Cleansing
by St. Minority
Summary: After having killed a teen, Doug tries to comfort his partner. Neither had any idea of the harsh consequences that were to come from Tom merely doing his job. Doug/Tom, Tom/OCs. Warnings: Rape, violence/torture, language, m/m. Ranges from T to M ratings
1. Chapter 1, 2, 3

**Title:** Cleansing  
**Rating:** R/NC-17  
**Pairings/Characters:** Tom/Doug, Tom/OCs, Judy, Ioki, Fuller, OCs...  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own 21 Jumpstreet, nor it's characters. All belong to Callen and peeps.  
**Warnings**: M/M, slash, language, rape, violence, a little anachronistic, angst, torment  
**Summary:** After having killed a teen, Doug tries to comfort his partner. Neither had any idea of the harsh consequences that were to come from Tom merely doing his job.

* * *

**Chapter One**

Doug glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering why anyone would be knocking on his door at one in the morning. Groggily, he got to his feet, switched on the closest lamp, and yawned as he shuffled to the door. Another few raps sounded, making him say slightly irritated, "I'm comin'. Just….shut up," he added, muttering under his breath. He was prepared to reprimand whoever it was when he reached for the doorknob, but shut his mouth after opening the entrance to find his partner, head down and looking utterly miserable.

"Tommy?" he asked quietly. "You alright, man? It's one o'clock."

Tom inhaled deeply and lifted his chin to stare at the older cop directly. His rich eyes appeared glassy, though not red or swollen as if he had been crying. A darkened shade tinted his lower eyelids, testifying to his lack of sleep. "Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure. Come in."

Penhall stepped to the side to allow Hanson to enter. He shut the door and led the way to the nearest couch.

"Have a seat," he said before adding, "Can I get you anything?"

Hanson shook his head. "No thanks."

Plopping down beside his friend, Penhall inquired, "So, what's on your mind, buddy?"

"I can't...Have you ever shot anyone, Doug?"

"Well, um….Yeah. I had to. A lot of cops have."

"Ever killed anyone?"

"Hey, come on, Tommy. That kid-"

"Have you?" Tom interrupted firmly.

Doug shook his head after a pause. "No, I haven't."

Hanson put his hand over his mouth and started to run his forefinger over his lips as he usually did when thinking intently about something.

"It's still bothering you?" Doug questioned after a brief moment. "You've shot someone before-"

"But he didn't die, Doug," the younger cop cut in. "I didn't _kill_ him."

"It's not like you meant to. You had to fire at the kid. He raised his gun and shot you, and you had to fire back. He would've killed those students; I don't doubt it."

"He wasn't a bad guy. He wasn't….Just brainwashed and pressured into it by his druggie, gang friends. Sixteen years old, and I killed him."

Tom rubbed his face and exhaled a shaky breath, his stomach clenching as images of the incident filtered through his mind. The bullet from Tanner had struck his upper arm, and the two he had fired at the boy hit Tanner's chest. His hand went to the acquired wound, and he brushed over it with his fingertips.

"Tom, you couldn't have done anything else," Doug said gently. "You have to move on." Hearing no response from the other man, he smiled kindly and held out his arms. "Hey, come here. Give me a hug."

Tom's lips quirked upward a little as he put his arms around his partner's neck. His back was massaged lightly and patted in a comforting gesture.

"You're a good cop, Hanson. Things like this happen, but you can't let it take you out of the game, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Tom answered softly. "Hey, um-" He pulled away and asked, "Can I stay here for the night?"

"Yeah; of course. You look really tense. You should go take a shower or something, get you relaxed."

"That does sound nice. A bath sounds better."

"Whatever you want. I'll get you some towels."

"Thanks."

They each stood up and as Doug went to the closet, Tom headed up the stairs to the tub. He turned on the water, using mostly warm and hot, and started taking off his clothes. Waiting for the tub to fill up, he sat on the edge of it wearing only his boxers. Doug came to him shortly with two towels and two washcloths. He set the towels on top of the lid of the toilet seat and draped the other linens over the side of the bathtub.

"Thanks," Hanson said with an appreciative smile.

"No problem. You'll need this too." He tossed a new bar of soap at Hanson before heading to the stairs. "Just yell if you need anything."

"Will do."

Tom watched his partner cross the main area below to the couch and flip on the television. It did not appear that Penhall was actually watching it; he stretched out on the sofa and from what Tom could see, his eyes were closed as if he were rapidly dozing off. Tom smiled and returned his attention back to the flowing water. It took a couple of more minutes before he was satisfied with the water level, which was only a small number of inches away from the rim, and he removed the last article of clothing he was wearing and eased himself down into the water. A sharp gasp escaped his open mouth due to its extremely warm temperature, but as he continued to lower himself into it, he started to feel his muscles loosen in relaxation. He tipped his head back under the surface for a second to wet his hair, ran his fingers through it once, and leaned back against the tub in order to stretch out. His arms rested on the sides, hands dangling over the edge, and his head laid against the curved end.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes; it was not long before he fell into a light sleep.

* * *

"Hey, Tommy. Wake up."

Hanson bolted upright, splashing water all over the floor from the sudden movement.

"Whoa, it's okay," Doug said gently. "Just me."

Hanson gazed up at the older male, who was sitting on the edge. "Sorry," he murmured as his anxiety subsided. "Was I asleep for very long?"

"Only a few minutes or so. You okay?"

Tom nodded and swallowed to relieve his slightly tightened throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Bad dream, I guess."

"I guess. Look, I brought you a shirt to sleep in; I figured it'd be a bit more comfortable."

"Thanks."

"Sure thing. And take your time. No rush. I'll just go get the couch ready for ya."

Tom got out of the bath five minutes after Penhall had left him alone, feeling much more at ease than when he had arrived at his partner's front door. He dried himself off, slipped his boxers on, and put on Doug's shirt. It was rather big, but comfortable, and he smirked at the image printed on it. He grabbed his clothes and as he descended to the main floor, he said amusedly, "Ziggy Stardust?"

Penhall turned to look at him and shrugged. "What's wrong with him? The guy rocks."

"He does; I just didn't expect you to have a shirt with his face on it." He placed his garments on the couch opposite from the one that was to be his bed for the night. "Thanks again for lettin' me crash here."

"Ah, no need for a 'thank you.' You know I'm here for ya, man."

The two men were standing behind the sofa, beginning to nonchalantly look around the area as an unusual, awkward silence settled between them. Hanson rubbed the back of his neck and ruffled his wet hair; Penhall, meanwhile, had his arms slack at his sides, tapping various rhythms on his legs. A strange urge was eating away at him – it had been ever since Tom had walked into his apartment – and it was something that had only crossed his mind on rare occasions.

Apparently, this was one of those occasions. He attributed it to the vulnerable, recently purified-by-water state Tom was in; plus, he had never seen his partner with so few clothes on before.

"Well, um," Tom muttered after a period. "Good night."

"Yeah," Doug answered distantly. "Good night."

Tom did not have a chance to move before Doug pulled him close and kissed him heatedly. It took the younger cop a couple of seconds to comprehend what was happening. He was utterly shocked by the action, though more surprised at how good Doug's lips felt on his. It was brief, however, and Doug was the first to break the contact. They stared at one another coyly; Penhall appeared to be more embarrassed than anything.

"I, uh…." he fumbled verbally. "I'm not quite sure what that was."

Tom exhaled a quick breath and nodded sharply. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry. I just….You're all depressed, and I guess I just thought it'd be a comforting thing, you know? I-"

He was hushed by Tom's mouth abruptly devouring his more vehemently than before. The younger man's arms went about Penhall's neck, one hand wandering through his hair. Sensing that he had permission, Penhall rested his palms flat against Tom's back and started to wander up and down the slim male's frame. Without realizing it, his right hand went to his partner's hip and slipped beneath the baggy t-shirt to rove over the smooth skin. Hanson emitted a noise of enjoyment, merely prompting Doug to be bolder. The older man inched his palm along his partner's side until his thumb brushed over Tom's nipple. The digits tangled in Doug's hair gripped harder, making Doug rub his thumb harder on the sensitive spot in a circular motion. A tremor went through Hanson's body, and he gave a small whimper that sent Penhall over the edge to arousal. He could not take it much longer; they were either going to end up on the couch or upstairs – he did not particularly care which it was.

While sliding his hand downward to grope Tom's cock through his boxers – which made the younger cop groan in tremendous pleasure – Doug breathed, "Bed? Wanna go?" He felt a bit ridiculous at being reduced to huffed fragments of only a couple of words, but the hot sensations of ecstasy coursing through him swallowed up any sort of coherent thought.

"Yes," Tom forced out. "Ohhn….Yes. Now."

Reluctantly, they broke apart and traveled rather hurriedly up the stairs to Doug's bed. Doug turned down the covers, and Hanson crawled onto the piece of furniture to sit in the middle. Penhall was right in front of him in seconds, head reeling as Hanson wrapped slender legs around his waist and kissed him hungrily. The longer they continued, the quicker the amount of control they had over the situation dissipated; there would be no stopping or turning back once they undressed each other, Doug knew. The possibility of upsetting his relationship with Tom did not enter his mind, nor did the thought of being uneasy around each other at work.

Besides, Tom showed no signs of quitting any time soon. He was entirely wrapped up in the moment as well.

Hanson lifted his arms, waiting as Doug hurriedly grasped the bottom of the large shirt; the garment was pulled over his head in a matter of seconds, and he kissed his partner ardently as it was tossed to the floor. A few seconds past before he broke away in order to remove Doug's shirt and throw it aside. Tom cupped the older male's face in his hands; Penhall wound his arms around the smaller man's torso; and without parting from one another's mouths, Penhall eased Tom to lie on his back. Slender legs were parted for Doug to settle himself between, and he gently lifted one to place delicate kisses on it from ankle to knee. Tom's eyes closed briefly, and he sighed contently. Doug rubbed his face against the side of his partner's bended knee for a moment before his lips continued upward to make contact with the inside of the other man's thigh.

"Doug," Hanson whispered, his fingers flexing on the bed sheets.

Penhall heard the wanting in Hanson's voice – a somewhat pleading tone – and he rested the younger male's leg down. Immediately, he gripped the top of Hanson's boxers and pulled them off of the slim hips, to Tom's knees, and then discarded them completely. The sight of his best friend lying naked, and very evidently aroused, under him was surprisingly and utterly breathtaking. Tom was observing Doug's countenance carefully and blushed a little from the way Doug silently inspected him up and down, not missing a detail. There was a period where nothing was said and neither of them moved. When Penhall found that his limbs could function again after having been struck motionless from the exquisite sight beneath him, he trailed his fingertip over the bullet wound on Tom's left arm.

"Does it hurt anymore?" he asked quietly, looking at Hanson thoughtfully.

"No. Not much. More of a dull, throbbing ache half of the time." Hanson turned his head away from the other man and exhaled a deep breath. "It shouldn't have happened like that," he said dejectedly.

"Tommy, buddy," Doug offered softly and stroked Tom's cheek. "You can't keep beating yourself up over it. He's dead. You did what you had to. There wasn't any other way it could've happened."

"The way his friend looked at me….I'll never forget it. So much anger and hurt. He kept yelling at me, screaming at me: 'How could you do this? You killed him. You're a murderer. You'll pay for this. We'll get you.' It plays over and over again in my head."

"You're not a murderer. You're a cop; you did your job. Don't let this affect what you do because you're good at what you do."

He made Tom gaze up at him before leaning down to kiss him tenderly. Tom relaxed from the touch, the arousing sensations starting to flow through him once more. With little time, Penhall took off his boxers and moved to the side of the bed to search through one of the drawers of the nightstand. Tom watched him, lust present in his brown eyes, and he could not stop himself from becoming infatuated with Doug's muscular body. He longed for that body to be all over his, yearning to caress it. As if knowing this, Penhall returned to hover above him with a plastic package and a small plastic bottle in his hands.

Doug ripped open the packet, though paused before removing the condom. "Have you done this before?"

Hanson swallowed and shook his head slightly. "No. Almost once, kind of. You?"

"No. I think I know how to, though."

Hanson smiled amusedly. "I think I know how it goes too."

Doug smirked and took out the protection. He put it on himself and doused it with lube before shifting to be directly above his partner. Hanson raised his legs and wrapped them around Doug's torso. He was trembling from intense nervousness and anticipation; his gaze locked with Doug's, and the softness present in his partner's eyes melted much of the apprehension he had.

Slowly, Penhall began to push himself into the slim body, eliciting a quivering groan from Hanson. He paused when he felt the muscles tense and stared at the younger man's visage to judge how it felt. Tom's eyes were shut tightly; his teeth were clenched together; his cheeks were flushed and he appeared tense. He expelled a gasp and arched upward as Doug slid into him more. It was painful; he could not deny it. Tears were forming behind his closed eyelids and started to fall from the corners of them.

"Stop," he huffed desperately. "Wait. Stop."

Penhall instantly ceased his movement. "Is it too much? Am I hurting you?" he questioned worriedly.

Tom was unable to answer for a moment as he tried to regain his breath. "Just….Give me a minute. I'll be okay."

In an attempt to help Tom become more comfortable, Penhall put his hand on the man's stomach and let it wander about Tom's torso. His lips attached themselves to Tom's neck to nip and suck greedily on the lightly perspiring skin. Hanson emitted a number of quiet, breathy whimpers as his throat was consumed by the other cop's warm mouth. The action worked in relaxing him, and without parting from the ever-growing darkening spot being formed by his mouth on the smooth neck, Doug commenced inching himself further into Hanson's body. Hanson's heels dug into Doug's back, and his fingers did the same as they gripped the older male's shoulder and arm.

"You alright?" Penhall asked, sounding winded.

Tom gave a stiff nod. "Keep going. Slow. Oh god….Slower."

After several more minutes, Penhall had successfully penetrated Tom completely. He rocked his hips forward, arousing a sharp inhale of breath from his partner, and then gently backward. The first couple of thrusts he did were small and careful, allowing Hanson a chance to get used to the foreign feeling of someone inside of him. The moment he saw the stress fade from Hanson's expression after awhile as the pain melted away, he withdrew from the slim being and drove himself into Tom once again with more power and more quickly. Tom cried out and shook uncontrollably. The next movement of Penhall's struck a spot deep within him that made his eyes roll back, and a loud, quaking moan of pleasure escaped from his open mouth. The reaction caused Doug to groan in return. As he settled on a leisurely pace of moving in and out of Hanson's body, he leant down to kiss all along the man's collarbone, to his neck, and upward until he reached Hanson's mouth. He kissed him erotically, letting his tongue slip into the warm oral cavity, muffling their sounds of ecstasy that came from them. Tom threw his arm across the back of Penhall's shoulders, and his free hand stroked his partner's face and hair. He had lost almost entire control over himself. The trembling vocals that sounded from him were filled with immense bliss and often pleaded for more; they had Doug hurrying his pace in order to make him moan louder.

"That feel good?" Doug panted and licked Tom's cheek.

"Yes," Tom forced out. "Oh god….Yes….Doug….Ohhh….More."

A yelp sounded from him when he felt strong fingers clasp around his erection. They began to rub him up and down, matching the pace of Doug's now fast propulsions. He writhed about under the larger man as if trying to escape, but in all actuality, he was attempting to move about in order to have as much contact with Penhall's body as possible.

After a time, he shouted Doug's name as he ejaculated onto his stomach and Penhall's hand. It was enough to stimulate Doug to complete orgasm, and he spilled himself inside of Hanson, though his seed was contained within the condom he wore.

Heavy breathing could be heard in the otherwise quiet area as they recovered from the exertion. Doug pulled out, removed the condom and set it on the floor, and rested down beside the younger man. They were each shaking and sweating and hesitant to break the silence. The realization of what they had done was beginning to at last slowly sink in, and Tom covered his face as if ashamed before finally speaking.

"Doug?"

"Yeah?"

"What did we do? How could we have let this happen?" His tone revealed that he was somewhat frightened by it all.

"Tommy….It's alright. It's not that big of a deal," Doug lied. He merely wished to calm and not offend his partner. It did not work.

Tom bolted upright and stared at him wildly. "Not a big deal?!" he exclaimed, a hint of anger in his voice. Penhall sat up as he continued on. "We…._did it!_ You and I! We're co-workers, partners, friends, men! What were we thinking?!" He bowed his head and rubbed his closed eyes with his index finger and thumb. "Shit," he whispered in disbelief. "Christ, what are we doing?"

"I'm not asking you for a relationship or anything, if that's what you're thinking," Doug stated blandly. "I won't tell anyone. One-night thing. We can just forget about it."

Tom smirked and looked at him. "You really believe that? I should've stopped before it got to this."

"I was only trying to make you feel better-"

"Comfort me? Sure, Doug," he interjected sarcastically. "You could've done that with a beer and a game of cards. You just wanted an easy fuck."

He got up from the bed and slid on his boxers. Doug stood as well and did the same, gazing at the shorter man angrily.

"That's bull shit, Tom," he said forcefully. "If you really had wanted it to end, you would've said something a long time ago. So obviously, you _wanted_ to be _fucked!"_

"I'm going to sleep on the couch," Hanson mumbled as he made his way to the stairs.

"Great! Just great! I won't care whether you're here or not!"

Hanson reached the main floor in seconds and plopped himself down on the sofa. He winced from the soreness of his backside, and it took him awhile to find a good position before he was able to focus on sleep. He heard movement from above as Doug settled himself and sighed tiredly. It was all too much; _everything_ was too much. His emotions were running rampant along with his thoughts, and he no longer knew what to make of what had transpired.

It was an hour before he quieted his thoughts and let his exhausted self fall asleep.

* * *

Clanging of dishes stirred Tom awake a few hours later. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on his stomach, left arm dangling off the couch and the other tucked beneath the pillow his head was on. The sunlight could be seen behind the blinds, making him groan in frustration. It was not a good or long sleep he had had; his body and mind were still utterly drained. Despite his urge to simply roll over and forget the morning, he sat up and glanced at the kitchen area. Doug was standing out the counter, pouring milk into a bowl filled with cereal. He was already dressed in jeans and a tattered, dirty white shirt. His hair had not been bothered to be brushed, but it did not matter; it was a McQuaid day. Normally eager and excited to don the faux personalities, Tom was neither. In fact, he dreaded spending the entire day with his partner, knowing it would be painfully awkward and tense between them after what had happened.

He looked away seconds before Doug's eyes focused on him, stood, and put on his jeans. As he was putting on his belt, the other cop treaded toward him unhurriedly. Penhall stopped at the end of the sofa and ate a spoonful of his breakfast before he ended the uncomfortable quietness.

"Thought you'd be gone already," he stated plainly.

Hanson clothed himself with his shirt and kept his gaze fixed on anything but his partner. "Disappointed are you, Dougie?" he retorted unenthusiastically.

"Don't really care, _Tommy."_

Hanson grabbed his coat and keys, and as he marched for the door, he grumbled, "See you at the chapel in thirty minutes."

The entrance was slammed shut before Penhall could respond. "Lovely. Looking forward to it."

* * *

"Hanson, you and Penhall having any success over at Ridgemont?"

Tom tossed his pencil onto his desk, nodded, and looked up at Fuller. "Yeah. We're set to meet him tonight at eleven for a purchase. I have to confirm it with him today, but I'm pretty sure this is the chance to bust him."

"Good. Where's Penhall?"

Tom was about to speak, though Doug beat him to it. "Here, Coach," he muttered as he trudged over to them.

"You're late. Now you two get out of here."

Doug was already heading back to the door before Tom even had the chance to stand up from his desk. The younger cop jogged to shorten the distance between them until he was right beside him. He situated his usual Tommy McQuaid bandana on his head, tied it, and shrugged on his worn denim jacket. Both were dressed for the part of the tough brothers, yet they acted as if they did not know one another at all and had already formed feelings of despise. They clambered into Hanson's Mustang, and as they drove toward the high school, neither said a word.

When they arrived at the campus, students found it quite unusual that Doug McQuaid was storming into the school before his brother; the two were always inseparable. It was also quite unusual when Tom entered a minute later and did not show any acknowledgment to the egotistical athlete that had quickly begun to harass him as if wanting to provoke him into a fight.

Unusual indeed that Tommy McQuaid was also walking with a slight limp that caused a twinge of minute pain to cross his face every few steps.

* * *

The first half of the day went by as Doug had expected it would: no interaction whatsoever between him and Tom. It was only when he sat down in the chair next to Tom at lunch that he received any sort of reaction. It was merely a look of annoyance he was given, prompting him to glare back at the younger man with distaste. He was about to speak, but was interrupted by a small, geeky-looking boy who had run to them. Neither of the cops heard what his offer was for their protection, for Tom swiftly commanded him to "buzz off." The kid left just as fast as he had come when he caught sight of his bullies.

"You could've at least let him state his case," Doug muttered under his breath.

"Then why don't you go run after him and see what it was about," Hanson retorted testily. "You know, I'm really surprised you'd actually sit by me. I thought you would've figured by now that I don't particularly want to be around you."

"Yeah, I could tell. Why are you being such an ass about the whole thing? It's not like I _made_ you do anything. Be mad at yourself if ya have to be mad at someone."

"Why don't you just shut the hell up and leave me alone? Alright?"

"Why don't _you_ just stop acting like a drama queen?"

Doug almost fell off of his chair as Hanson abruptly shoved him. He stood up furiously, and Tom was on his feet not a second later. Doug pushed the smaller man strongly. Hanson stumbled backward a few feet, yet quickly regained his balance and ran at his partner, tackled him to the ground, and began hitting him. Doug hurriedly recovered from the impact with the floor and flung Tom off of him before attacking the younger cop with his fists. There was raucous cheering and shouting from the students who had gathered around the two to watch the fight. It all ended soon, however, by several teachers swooping into the ring to pry them away from one another.

Roughly, they were hauled out of the cafeteria to go face whatever punishment the principal had for them. The spectators simply went back to their lunches, thinking nothing more of the scene than a brotherly dispute over what they believed was most likely drugs.

* * *

Hanson stepped out of Fuller's office and made his way up to the lockers. The deal was to happen at eleven that night as planned at an abandoned lot. There would be full back-up for him and his partner, seeing as how the dealer preferred to do business with several of his buddies present as well. It was already nine-thirty, and having such a stressful day with Doug made him want to go home to calm down a bit and be alone before having to meet up with him again.

He reached the second level of the church, cursing under his breath at discovering Penhall rummaging around in his locker. There was a brief period of hesitancy before Hanson proceeded to his locker next to the older cop's. Penhall did not even glance at him, nor did he say anything. Tom retrieved his long coat to take with him, slammed the metal door shut, yet did not make a move to leave. Instead, he stared down at the floor, trying to piece together what he wished to say, what he knew he _should_ say.

"You heading out for a little while before we meet with him?" he asked, mentally berating himself for avoiding the matter that should be addressed.

"Maybe," Doug mumbled. "You finally putting the claws away?"

"We have to talk about it sometime. Preferably in a civil manner."

Doug smirked. "Civil. Right," he muttered sardonically.

"Look, I….You haven't told anyone about it, have you?"

Penhall shut his locker and turned to face the younger man. "Yes. I went around and blabbed to everyone how we slept together and how you were begging me to give you more." Tom's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and anger; he was not amused at the lie. "What do you think?"

"I'm being serious, Doug. I don't want anyone to know."

"It was a mistake to you."

"Yes, it was. It shouldn't have happened."

"Fair enough," Penhall stated with a nod. "What I don't get is how this whole thing has seemed to consume your whole mind. I've let it go….mostly; how come you can't? I know you enjoyed it, so don't try denying that. So why such a big mistake?"

"I just wanted someone, _needed_ someone. A-A friend. To talk to. I had no intention of it ending up the way it did. I wasn't thinking clearly because I've been so obsessed over this kid's death. I….Doug….I like women. I love women. I don't understand how I _did_ enjoy it that much. I don't get why I was suddenly so attracted to you."

"I love women too. And it was a weird moment of attraction. But I get it. You were hurting; I wanted to help you. And somehow, me helping you came out as me….sleeping with you. Wasn't the best decision, but it was a weird moment, you know?" He paused for a second before saying sincerely, "I'm sorry for taking advantage of your vulnerability, Tommy."

Tom was motionless for a minute and stayed quiet. Penhall was about to speak once more, but Tom hurriedly brushed past him to descend to the main floor and soon left the chapel all together.

* * *

The television was flipped on simply for noise as Hanson gazed at the ceiling from where he lay sprawled out on the couch. He clutched a can of beer in one hand, while the other rested on the top of his head and massaged it gently. His mind was overrun with thoughts that would not shut up no matter how hard he tried to smash them apart. Some sort of better resolution between him and Doug had to be reached; he knew this, though he was not sure how to come by it. It had not even been a full day since he had laid with his partner, and yet it had bothered him immensely ever since he had woken up, making it feel as if it had been a week. He could not take much more. It was all too complicated and threatened to drive him insane.

He sighed, swallowed down a decent amount of his alcohol, and returned to staring above him. He had not entirely regretted what they had done; it was more of the fear and shock he had for feeling more than friendly feelings for the older cop now that made him on edge. It was inappropriate. It would not work if he were to confess his emotions to Penhall. It would be a disaster, ruining their relationship completely instead of hoping to fix it. He could not let the upset, tough exterior falter around Doug in order to prevent whatever consequences were to come if he were to show how he truly felt.

Having the urge to follow Doug's advice from the previous night, he headed to his bedroom, discarded his clothing, and went into the bathroom to take a hot shower to relax.

* * *

Doug looked at his watch and gritted his teeth. It was mere minutes until eleven, and Tom was nowhere to be found.

"Where the hell are you, Tom?" he said irately to himself.

He glanced around the dark, open area and saw nothing, but knew that Fuller and a squad of cops were in place and ready. A figure came into view ahead of him followed by six more. This was it, and he vowed inwardly to "beat the shit" out of Tom the next time he saw him.

"Where's your brother, McQuaid?" the seventeen year old dealer asked.

"Sick at home. Case of gonorrhea. Came out of nowhere."

"I suppose just working with you will be fine. Got the cash?"

Doug winked smugly and nodded. "Sure thing. Even got more than that, kid."

* * *

Not caring that it was late at night, eleven-thirty to be exact, Doug stormed down the hallway to his partner's apartment door and started banging on it loudly.

"Hanson! If you're in there, open up now!" he shouted madly. "Hanson!" He paused for a few seconds, thinking that he had heard a noise from within the apartment. It was too soft to make anything of it, however. "Fuller's going to kill you, but he'll have to wait in line. Right now, you're dead to me! I can't believe you'd pull this sort of shit! Hanson! Open the door!"

He waited a minute more before giving up and retreating to the stairs. A string of curse words were uttered in frustration once he was outside to his motorcycle from observing that Tom's Mustang was parked near the building.

"Unbelievable. Screw everyone over and then don't even bother answering your door to defend yourself. What the fuck is wrong with you, Tommy?"

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Fuller had given a window period of two hours for Hanson to show up at Jump Street before he decided that there would need to be some investigating of his whereabouts. He called Judy, Ioki, and Doug into his office, sat behind his desk, and waited for them to file in.

"Any news on where he is?" he asked dryly.

"No answer at his apartment," Harry stated with a shrug.

"His mom hasn't heard from him either," Judy added. "I called over to Ridgemont to see if maybe he went there for one more day, but they said he hasn't showed to any classes."

"There wasn't any answer when I went over to his place this morning," Doug said agitatedly.

"Ok," Fuller spoke after a pause. "Penhall, Hoffs, I want you two to go check on his apartment again. Ioki, call any place you think he'd turn up at."

As the three cops exited the office, Judy questioned quietly, "You want to go now, Doug?"

"Fine with me."

* * *

The three knocks on the door were followed by silence. Penhall flashed Judy an annoyed look before pounding on the entrance again.

"Not here," he voiced blandly.

"Do you know if he has a spare key hidden somewhere? Any way we can get in?"

"I don't know."

He fumbled with the doorknob, and he frowned from finding it unlocked.

"Weird," he muttered confusedly.

"Let's have a look around, shall we?"

The two stepped into the apartment and leisurely started to amble around the area. There were several empty beer cans scattered on the floor, adding more of a mess to the already slightly disorderly space.

"Doesn't look like he's here," Judy said as she made her way to Tom's bedroom.

There was a damp bath towel lying on the floor, as well as the clothes Tom had worn the day before. The bed was in disarray; sheets were crumpled and hung off the edges, appearing like someone had been rolling around on them wildly. She went closer, and an unpleasant feeling rose within her.

"Doug, come here," she said loud enough for him to hear her.

He entered a number of seconds later and inquired, "What is it?"

"Look at this."

She pointed to the sheets, and Doug's mouth fell open in wonderment.

"What the….?" He drifted off for a moment before speaking once more. "Is that blood?"

"I think so. What happened? Where do you think he's gone to?"

Penhall shook his head and inhaled a quick breath. "I don't know."

"Come on. Let's get back and see if they've found out anything."

* * *

Doug and Judy waited patiently while their captain discussed details about a case with another officer. The conversation lasted a couple of minutes longer before they were able to share their findings.

"Well?" Fuller inquired with interest.

"He wasn't there," Hoffs voiced with concern. "But there-"

"Coach!" Ioki interrupted as he jogged to the three huddled outside of Fuller's office. He clutched something in his hand, and as he came to stand in the group, he said, "Take a look at this."

Fuller took it and read the label on the video tape. "When did you find this?" he asked.

"Just now."

"Where?"

"Right outside the chapel door. There was no one in sight to guess who may have left it."

"What is it, Captain?" Penhall questioned; all anger he had directed at Tom had now vanished only to be replaced by extraordinary anxiety. "What's it say?"

"It says, 'To Jump Street – Here's Tom Hanson.' There's a piece of paper taped to the back here." He ripped it off before reading aloud. "Open after watching."

Saying nothing more, Fuller took the folded notebook paper and tape into his office; the three officers followed, and Ioki shut the door as Fuller pushed the cart with the TV on it from the corner of the room to the center. He inserted the VHS into the VCR, turned on the television and turned up the volume. The recorded material began almost immediately.

_A tall, thin male held the camcorder out in front of him to film himself. His face was covered with a black ski mask, obscuring anything that would be able to identify him._

_"Hello, Captain Fuller," he greeted with mockery. "And to any other Jump Street cop present for the fun. Wondering where your precious Officer Tom Hanson is yet? I'm sure you are, so let's go ahead and check on him, shall we?"_

_The screen was jumpy as the teenager, Danny, flipped the camera around, revealing that he was in Hanson's apartment and was now moving toward the bedroom. Upon entering, he panned from covered face to covered face of his four accomplices – Derick, Andrew, Eric, and Travis – before looking down. Tom was lying on his left side on the floor, his wrists in his own handcuffs behind his back and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist that went to just his knees. The half of his visage that was visible was swollen and had serious bruising, the majority of the discoloration encasing his closed eye. There was a trail of blood that showed from his hairline to his nose, where it dribbled onto the floor. His bottom lip was split open and bled a little; the red liquid that had leaked from the wound earlier onto his chin had already dried._

"Oh my god," Doug whispered, his eyes wide and his expression filled with fury.

_Tom let out a small groan and stretched his legs; his left eye opened halfway, which appeared to cause him pain due to the struggle it took to do so._

_"Looks like he's comin' around," Travis snickered._

_"Get him up."_

_One of them crossed to the officer they had beaten to unconsciousness, grabbed a fistful of Tom's still wet hair, and pulled harshly. Tom whimpered as he was hauled to his feet, resulting in laughter from the other five in the room._

_"How is it that this man can get away with murder? Is that fair?" Danny asked._

_"It certainly isn't," Derick answered from where he stood beside Tom's dresser._

_"So what do we do with him?"_

_"We should have more fun with him," Andrew suggested and finally let go of Hanson's hair. "Treat him like he would be if he was put in prison for the murder he committed, seeing as he would be one of the 'pretty' ones." The five masked men laughed at the comment that made Hanson bow his head from embarrassment and humiliation. "Show him who's in charge of him now."_

_"How would you feel about your pretty officer then, Captain Fuller?" Derick yelled at the camera with a smirk._

_Andrew tore the towel away from Hanson's body, prompting another round of entertained laughter spawned from the mortification written on Tom's countenance._

Doug could feel his face growing hotter and hotter by the minute as he watched the abuse of his partner. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he had to control himself from striking the wall.

_"Who wants him?" Andrew asked. "Or am I first?" He traced his finger down Tom's cheek, making the young cop recoil from the contact. The four other captors sniggered and hooted at this. "I'll just take him."_

_He pushed Tom to the bed and shoved him to lay on it. Eric covered the officer's mouth with duct tape that stretched from Hanson's right ear to his left. It was evident that Hanson was already thoroughly exhausted, and he could not bring himself to waste his strength on trying to force Andrew off of him._

_The camcorder focused on Tom's battered face, catching every flinch of pain and the utter shame present in his usually lively brown eyes. They were soon shut tightly as he arched upward and practically screamed from Andrew thrusting into him. Several clear tears fell from the corners of his eyes, and he trembled when the man withdrew from his body. A loud moan, which was muffled by the tape, sounded from him as he was penetrated again. A string of whimpers started to come from him as he was defiled, while a new wave of tears overwhelmed him._

"Turn it off," Doug growled through clenched teeth.

_Tom cried out and kept his eyes closed even after Andrew was done and Travis began._

"Turn it off!" Doug shouted madly and stormed to the VCR. He pressed the stop button and then the eject button numerous times as if that would make the tape pop out faster. Before he had a chance to retrieve it – and tear it apart – Fuller removed it and set it on his desk. Judy was staring at the floor, her eyes red and wet from grief. Ioki inhaled a deep breath and put a hand over his mouth for a moment. Not able to contain it any longer, Doug unleashed his rage by kicking the metal filing cabinets and punching the wall as he cursed.

Once he was finished, he collapsed onto the couch, breathing rapidly.

"The note," Fuller started in a faint voice and picked up the folded piece of paper. "Reads, 'Like what you saw? Look again tomorrow for more'." He put it aside and shook his head. "Any ideas who this could've come from?"

"Maybe it's a friend of Tanner's out for revenge," Doug said distantly. "Or maybe his brother rounded up some friends to do it. Tom mentioned one of them threatened that he would 'pay for' killing Tanner." With a dejected sigh, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "I went over to his place last night. I yelled at him for not being there for the bust, and while I pounded away on the door, he was in there….being raped." The last word was spoken with hesitancy. "I….I could've helped him."

"It's not your fault, Penhall," Fuller said in an effort to ease the guilt Doug had. "We don't know if he was even there when you went over. They could've already taken him. You couldn't have stopped them. Now, do you know the kid's name that Hanson was talking about? Or his brother?"

"I know Tanner's brother for sure."

"Find him."

* * *

Officer Penhall was utterly impatient as he waited on the doorstep in front of the nice, pastel colored house. He rocked back and forth on his heels and continuously mumbled, "Come on, come on." Ioki was significantly calmer, and he knew he would most likely have to keep Doug from lashing out at the suspect.

The door was finally opened by a woman, and it was obvious that she was not happy with them standing on her porch.

"What the hell do you want?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Benton," Ioki began in a composed tone of voice. "We'd like to speak with your son for a moment."

She smirked bitterly. "The one your friend _didn't_ kill? I don't think so. He's done with you and your fellow cops. Leave us alone."

"We have reason to believe he's a suspect in the kidnapping and rape of Officer Hanson."

"This is ridiculous. He wouldn't be involved in those sorts of heinous, disgusting crimes. He's still grieving, for god's sake. He can barely get out of the house for school, much less anything else. Now get out of here and stay away from my son."

Swiftly, she slammed the door shut. Doug turned around and worked to withhold from breaking in. A thought suddenly hit him, and he started for the car with Ioki close behind.

"I know some places he hangs out at," he said with determination in his voice.

* * *

In one quick motion, Penhall threw Tanner's brother against the wall, out of plain sight from the main part of the dingy bar. He held the teenager there and stared at him vengefully, while Ioki merely observed with little concern for the kid's well-being.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Danny asked, annoyed.

"I'm sure you have an idea," Doug hissed maliciously. "My partner? Tom Hanson? He's missing."

"So? Why would I care? He deserves whatever's coming for him."

Doug gripped Danny's shirt tighter and pressed against his throat. "I think you had somethin' to do with it. You and four of your fucking friends."

A smirk came to the teen's face. "Why would I do anything to him?"

"You know damn well why. You beat him, raped him, and then took him away. Where is he?"

"Did he enjoy it?" His blue eyes were glittering with malcontent.

"Enjoy what?"

"Being fucked like a prison bitch?"

Doug struck him forcefully before flinging him to the ground and holding him down.

"Where is he?!" Penhall growled dangerously between clenched teeth.

"I don't know. I had nothing to do with it."

"I swear to god, if he dies, I will kill you myself and you'll be no better off than your brother."

The officer stood, glared at him threateningly, and treaded out of the bar.

"I'm gonna find you, Tommy," he whispered as tears of frustration filled his eyes.

* * *

Once they had finished with using his body for their pleasure, Tom had been hit violently until he had passed out. The next time he had opened his eyes, he found himself lying in the back, windowless half of a van still handcuffed and with duct tape still covering his mouth. He had been thankful to discover that he was dressed in a pair of boxers. There was no way of telling where he was or where he was being taken to, and extreme weariness had won out several times, causing him to close his eyes and fall asleep now and then on the way to the destination.

The fourth time he awoke, he was sprawled out on the concrete floor of an unfinished basement in a house. There were a couple of windows around the space that revealed it was daylight outside. The previous night's events seemed like nothing more than a horrible nightmare, but the grotesque bruises on his body and his incredibly sore backside reminded him that it had indeed all happened. He was no longer handcuffed, though the tape remained. Very slowly, he started to pull it off. He grimaced in pain as it was unhurriedly removed. After a few minutes, he was successful, and he crumpled it and chucked it across the area.

It took a great amount of energy and effort to lift himself to a seating position against the cold, hard wall; he hated feeling entirely worn out. Nonchalantly, he gazed about his surroundings, which were surprisingly rather void of furniture. There was a double-sized bed, a couch, and a bunch of wires everywhere. On the opposite end from where he was, there was a door that went to a small bathroom and another that was shut and locked. As for lighting, there was one fluorescent light overhead and several individual spotlights hanging from the ceiling. Something that caught his attention was the presence of numerous holes in the walls. He looked into one, yet could not tell what was in it. He thought he could see a tiny red light, but it went away, making him believe he had imagined it.

Cautiously as to not cause anymore unneeded pain, he started to get to his feet and was able to after a minute or so. He ached everywhere; it was impossible to take even one step without having some part of his body hurting. Despite this, he started limping to the other side of the spacious area to investigate his new surroundings more thoroughly. He meandered over to the stairs leading up to the above floor and discovered that a door – seemingly made of some type of metal to ensure no escape – was closed, leaving him no chance of going anywhere other than around the dingy space. There was no reason to check if it was unlocked or not; he knew it was bolted securely.

After only a couple of minutes, he collapsed to the floor next to the bed. He let his eyes sweep over the room one more time before at last succumbing to the stress, degradation, and anguish. Quietly, he wept alone, bringing his knees to his chest to embrace. He suddenly felt wholly disgusting and dirty, the vast opposite of how he had felt after giving himself to Doug. The chances of Doug wanting him now, he knew, were extremely slim to none. Then again, he thought shamefully, Penhall did not have to know about him being physically and sexually maltreated. Refusing to reveal any of the details to the older cop – if he was indeed found – would be what he would do, along with ignoring and declining any advances from Penhall if he made them.

As evening rolled in, so did a strong storm. He could hear the wind and rain beating against the house and saw the world outside light up from each vein of lightening. The thunder was occasionally powerful enough to shake the walls above him and loud enough to startle him and make him quake. The lights flickered once before going out entirely, plunging him into complete darkness. The stillness within his confines and total blackness made him begin to breathe rapidly as he panicked. The solitude here was nothing like what he had gone through at the juvenile jail with Doug. He remembered how his partner had lost it due to claustrophobia, and he suddenly knew how Penhall had felt. It was stifling and crushing, and he curled up on the floor as if to escape it. He murmured desperate prayers, asking for the electricity to return incredibly soon. It was not long before he passed out from his intense anxiety.

The lights never came on for him until morning.

* * *

Doug hardly slept at all; it was an apparent fact by his disheveled hair, tired and dull eyes, and he had not changed out of the outfit he had worn the day before. There was nothing he could concentrate on except for Tom Hanson and what could possibly be happening to the younger officer. He was making himself physically sick from pondering constantly on his partner, and shortly after he arrived at the chapel, he had to run for the bathroom to vomit miserably.

It was his fault. It was his fault that Tom had been kidnapped and raped. If he had just made Tom stay and talk like he had wanted to, or had gone to Hanson's apartment at least thirty minutes before the bust, Hanson would not be missing.

It took a great deal of energy to trudge back downstairs to his desk. Various reports littered the surface – things he needed to get done – but he could not focus on any of it. Whenever his phone rang, he picked it up hurriedly, hoping to hear Tom's voice on the other end, but it never was, and his spurt of vitality was snuffed just as quickly as it had come.

_The way his friend looked at me….I'll never forget it. So much anger and hurt. He kept yelling at me, screaming at me: 'How could you do this? You killed him. You're a murderer. You'll pay for this. We'll get you.'_

Doug broke his pencil in half while hearing Hanson speak in his mind. There was no other main suspect that they could find at the moment, and there was not much need to; Doug knew without a doubt that Danny was heavily involved in the crime, though there was no real evidence to pin on him and put him away. And Danny was not going to spill a word of any helpful tips.

"Captain!"

Penhall glanced up to see Judy racing in from outside to Fuller's office. She went in, and Penhall exchanged a serious look with Ioki before following her. When they entered, she was handing a piece of paper over to their boss, and Doug's heart thumped painfully, fearfully, from witnessing a tinge of horror in Fuller's eyes.

Noticing the three officers' imploring gazes, Fuller cleared his throat and read the note. "Much more on display. Many more viewers. Curious? copkiller dot com." He paused before setting the paper down and looking at the three present. "They mean serious business. This wasn't a random kidnap. I want the three of you to make a list of names of all the kids Hanson's arrested in the past two months and then find out whether they've been released or not and where they went."

"I still think we should continue going after Danny Benton," Doug said firmly.

"Fine. You can put your attention to him."

"Are you going to see what that website is?" Judy asked.

Fuller gave a stiff nod, retreated behind his desk to sit down, and in seconds had the URL typed in. The three cops huddled around to view the screen, all of them feeling exceedingly anxious and worried.

When the webpage loaded, Doug stopped breathing for a second and he felt like throwing up. At the top was the site's name and below it was a large photo of Hanson's police badge, showcasing who was to be the victim. A couple of links were on the side that led to a place to post comments and to view more video recordings. Taking up the center area was a video of live feed from a camera positioned close to a bed; it was the featured camera of the day, and the many other angles and shots to watch could be found by clicking the link on the side. The bottom of the page was what was most troubling. It was positioned in the center above a visitor count.

Days, hours, minutes, and seconds were displayed with words above it, stating: "Time until Officer Tom Hanson's Execution."

A countdown.

Doug was in shock, as were his co-workers. Had he been shot? No, he was still alive; but he was suddenly feeling as if everything was being drained out of him like blood seeping from a wound. His best friend was going to be murdered. Tom would be dead in thirteen days, nine hours, forty-five minutes, and twenty seconds if they were unable to find him before then.

"Is that him?"

Judy's voice snapped Doug away from his thoughts, and he stared at the computer screen more intensely.

"Yeah, that's him," Harry answered sadly.

Tom had moved directly into the camera's range by sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the bed. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and extended his legs out in front of him. His skin – the smooth, unmarred, beautiful skin Penhall had tasted and caressed – was terribly discolored by an innumerable amount of bruises and cuts. Penhall swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the memory of claiming Tom's body, and finally had to look away from his maltreated partner.

"I'm putting ten more people on this case with you three," Fuller said, hiding his anger and despondency from his tone. "We _will_ find him."

* * *

**Chapter Three**

The room was dark, though light soon poured inside from the door opening upstairs. Footsteps could be heard descending the stairs, and Tom held his breath in anticipation. He struggled to his feet just as the person came into view at the bottom of the steps and squinted a little to study the male's face even though the only part of the person's visage showing was the lower half; from the bridge of his nose and up, it was shrouded by what looked like a beanie to Tom, with holes cut out so the person could see.

"Hello, Officer Hanson," the seventeen year old greeted bitterly. The voice and the way he stood gave him away.

"Danny Benton," Tom half-whispered, half-croaked.

Tom stiffened as Danny moved promptly to him, knowing that he was about to be hit judging by the tight scowl on the kid's face. The blow was harder than he had expected, sending him backwards a couple of steps before being slammed against the wall roughly. A hand went to his throat in a choke hold, keeping him up against the cement surface.

"Don't fucking say my name," Danny hissed madly. "Ever."

"Then what do I call you?" Hanson gasped and winced from more pressure applied to his neck.

"Smith. And nothing else."

"Why are you doing this? I'd expect something like this from your brother, but not you; you're not like him."

"How would you know?"

"Good grades, clean record, a bit quiet – doesn't seem like the criminal type to me."

"Well, you're wrong. And if you hadn't killed him, you wouldn't be here."

"If he hadn't have taken those students hostage and put a gun to that girl's head, he wouldn't have died."

The reply garnered him a powerful slap, making him emit a small whimper from the intense sting on his throbbing cheek.

"You better watch your mouth, Hanson," Danny warned in a low-tone.

"Are you really wanting to throw your life away over him? Because that's what will happen. You'll be charged with kidnapping and…." He paused to think of a less degrading term for what else they had done to him. "Assault on an officer, and you'll be put away for a long time. You really want that? You could let me go now and have the charges against you lessened."

"You know what I really want? I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you in every way possible. I want you to suffer and pay for what you did. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be so scarred by what's happened and what you look like that you'll never want to be seen by anyone else again."

To emphasize his point, Benton slipped his hand behind the waistband of Tom's only garment and stroked the officer's limp cock forcibly. Tom tried to jerk away, but he could not get past the strong hold on him. He realized it was not only physical abuse he would have to endure, but emotional as well when he felt the sickening humiliation take over him.

"Don't do this," he voiced quietly. "Stop it."

"I think you're just beginning to enjoy it."

Tom bit his lip and closed his eyes for a fleeting moment as he debated over what to do. The instant he re-opened them, he grabbed Benton's arm and pried it away from his body, pushed him to the floor, and began racing for the stairs. His heart was beating so incredibly rapidly that he felt as if he would burst from the inside-out. A glimpse of hope went through him as he neared the metal door at the top. There were only two more steps.

He was suddenly hurled backwards, falling down the wood stairs to land on the ground face-down in a pitiful heap. Searing pain shot through his skull and seemed to travel all the way down to his feet. He let out a weak, quivering groan and remained immobile as his attacker came down slowly with a couple of new tools. Blood streamed from various spots on his head, and he had to blink several times to keep it out of his eyes. He could taste the red substance in his mouth from his jaw having crashed against the cement floor, making him surprised to discover that none of his teeth had come loose. The agony of the fall left him feeling completely paralyzed; he hoped in some ways that he was, believing if he was to become utterly incapacitated, he would no longer be as great of a plaything for his captors and be released.

Danny kicked Hanson's stomach powerfully twice, resulting in the victim vomiting wretchedly.

"You pull a stunt like that again, and you're liable to make it much worse for yourself," the teenager stated plainly.

As Tom lay helpless, Danny flipped him over to lie on his back and placed a thick block of wood between Tom's feet just above his ankles. He was up on his knees, gripping a sledgehammer and grinning devilishly.

"Ever heard of _Misery_, Tom?" he asked conversationally.

Hanson closed his eyes and continuously moaned in intense pain, moving his head very slowly from side to side, and he could not quite decipher what had been spoken; he was hardly aware of what Danny was about to do.

Benton drew back his weapon and with one swift motion, he slammed it against Hanson's right ankle. Tom screamed in torment and dared to glance at his foot now limply lying against the wood, the bones having been smashed apart. The sight made his stomach clench, almost causing him to throw up. Tears leaked from his eyes, sweat blanketed his worn skin, and he was panting heavily. He did not comprehend the next course of action until it happened. He wailed once more when his left ankle was shattered in the same fashion as the previous one.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you," Danny voiced amusedly. "There's still more to be done for the evening."

With a satisfied laugh, Danny made his way up the stairs, and Tom heard the metal door slam shut.

--  
"Come on, Tommy," Doug whispered, his eyes glued to his computer monitor in his living room. "Get up. Come on."

He had been watching the live feed on the website non-stop ever since he had gotten home from the chapel at four. It was now eight o'clock. Tom's fall down the stairs had him almost in hysterics, and seeing the process of his partner's feet being broken made him unable to breathe for practically a minute and a half. The mere sight sent pain through his own bones.

"Please, get up. Please be ok."

After ten minutes of utter stillness, Doug witnessed Tom's hand move to his head for a period before he rolled onto his abdomen and did his best at crawling toward the bed. There was a puddle of blood from where Tom's head had struck the ground, and blood continued to drip on the floor from other contusions as he dragged himself across the area. He was sobbing, and it made Doug's heart ache unbearably to see. It was not until he observed the tears on his partner's face that he realized he was crying as well.

The phone rang suddenly, causing him to jump in surprise. It was at the other end of the large area, and he hesitated to leave the screen – to leave Tom. The ring sounded two more times before he got up and went to answer it.

"What do you want?" he asked curtly.

"Doug? It's Judy."

"Oh, hey, Jude. Sorry."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine."

"Well I was just calling to see if you wanted to meet me, Ioki, and Booker at Oscar's bar for a drink-"

"Wait, Booker? Since when is he back?"

"He heard about the case and requested that he could work on it with us. I guess he does care at least a little for Tom even though they got under each other's skin most of the time. Anyway. We're all kind of shaken up from today and thought it may be good to go out and clear our heads."

"I can't….I can't just leave, Judy."

"What are you talking about? Why?"

"I don't want to miss anything – any sort of clue as to where Tom is. I can't leave him."

"Doug, please tell me you haven't been at that website ever since you got home. You were watching it practically the whole day at work. You need to take a break from it; it'll make you sick."

"Then who's gonna be watching, huh?!" he questioned angrily. "Just abandon him for a few hours so that I can go off and enjoy myself and take my mind off of what's happening to him and then come back later as if nothing's wrong for a little longer?!"

"I didn't mean it like that, Doug. I'm worried about you. I don't want you to start losing sleep and getting so obsessed with watching every single minute of that disgusting video feed. You'll be no good to him if you can't think clearly."  
Doug sighed in defeat, knowing she was right. "Yeah, I guess. Look, you guys go have a good time alright? I think I'm gonna turn in for the night."

"Ok. We'll just see you tomorrow. And I mean it; get some rest, Doug."

A minute smile came to Doug's face. "Yes, mother," he replied jokingly.

"Ha ha, very funny, Douglas. Good night."

"Night, Judith."

He hung up the phone and despite what he had just gotten done telling Judy, he went straight to the computer to continue his surveillance. Nothing had happened in his absence, judging by the fact that Tom had not moved whatsoever from where he had passed out near the bed. Every now and then a spasm went through Tom's body and he cried out at times, but he did not regain consciousness for a lengthy period.

Doug folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. He did not plan on falling asleep, yet his eyes seemed to think otherwise, for they closed and he was out in minutes.

* * *

The sounds of shallow breathing, soft moans, and lowered voices that were incomprehensible awoke Doug two hours later. He bolted upright in his chair, rubbed his tired eyes, and gazed at his screen to witness what was happening at that moment. He almost threw the monitor across the spacious area in a moment of rage from what he saw.

The feed came from a camera that captured the left side view of what was occurring on the bed. The image was clear and close enough to capture facial expressions, though far enough away to have the whole bed in the shot. Tom was lying on his back, hands above his head and handcuffed to the bed posts. He was naked, and his knees were bent, almost touching his chest. One of his captors was positioned between his legs and thrusting in and out of his body vigorously, while the four others looked on in amusement.

Doug's stomach churned as he watched Hanson be gang raped brutally. The five of them took turns at violating the young officer's being; not only did they participate in complete intercourse, but they let their hands wander inappropriately over his body, making Hanson writhe under them in an attempt to get them off of him. One even shifted Tom's head to the side so that he could fornicate Tom's mouth with his once-again hard cock. Tom whimpered in shame and pain, and he hated that he had been made entirely powerless to stop any of it. He swallowed down the urge to cry in torment, not wishing to display anymore weakness.

The appalling treatment made Penhall snap. He flew out of his chair and began shouting curses as he threw anything he could get his hands on at the wall. He did not even know what he was picking up, but knew that some of them had to be glass objects due to the shattering noise they made when they collided with the bricks. His fists struck his punching bag furiously as he let his anger pour out of him.

"I'll kill them! I'll bash their freaking heads in!" he yelled to the empty room. He hit the bag one more time before he wrapped his arms around it and held it close to keep him standing. "I'm going to find you, Tom. I swear to god. You don't deserve this."

With a depressed sigh, he shuffled back to the computer a couple of minutes later and was a bit relieved to find that they were no longer fondling or ravishing Tom. His wrists had been freed from the cuffs, and Travis shoved him off the bed to hit the floor with a feeble moan.

"Looks like you could use a little clean up, eh, Tommy?" Derick said with disdain. He took a fistful of Tom's hair and began pulling him toward the bathroom. Tom yelped from the sudden pain, and he made to ease himself along with his feet, but the agony that engulfed the floppy appendages caused him to simply grasp Derick's arm and pull himself up as much as he could to alleviate the aching hurt from his hair being yanked on.

When he was hauled into the bathroom, they all went out of the shot. Doug scrambled to click on the link that led to a page that looked as if it belonged in a security surveillance room; he estimated that there were at least fifteen cameras in use. He scrolled down until he found the recording frame of the camera positioned on the wall at the opposite end from the shower head in the bath. Tom was hurled into the tub and gruffly lifted to stand. A hand was offered to him to hold onto to keep from collapsing. The weight on his freshly broken ankles was so extremely agonizing that it made him black out several times every few seconds. No longer could he refrain from letting hot tears stream down his discolored cheeks.

The faucet was turned as far as it could go to the right to be as cold as possible. When the water rained down on him, Hanson gasped loudly and struggled to move away, but he was forcefully kept in place. He could not breathe; the freezing temperature made it feel as if his lungs had been punctured, for he found it unbearably difficult to take in any air. The arm not steadying himself wrapped around the front of his torso instinctively in an effort to provide warmth. His mind went into a state of panic; he began to hyperventilate, causing him even more trouble breathing, and emitted choked sounds. He shook violently as the water cascaded over his beaten body. Dried blood was flushed away, along with a small amount of semen – from whom, he did not know. It was a cruel baptism, one that did not end after only a few seconds.

"Who do you wish was keepin' you warm right now, Tommy boy?" Danny taunted. "Some hot blonde you'd love to have between a pair of warm sheets?"

Hanson could not answer; he could not find the ability to speak at all. He gave a stiff shake of the head.

"A brunette girl? Or perhaps not a girl at all. You a faggot, Tom Hanson?" The five masked males laughed at this.

Hanson did not respond and merely continued to shiver uncontrollably.

"Ah, who is it, Tommy? Who are you wishing was keeping you warm? I wouldn't be surprised if you said your partner."

The officer opened his mouth wider as if to reply, yet there was nothing but stifled noises that came from his constricted throat.

"Come on, Hanson. Who?"

"D-D-D-Dou-Doug," he forced out between his chattering teeth.

Doug's mouth fell open and he felt his heart stop for a second. He stared at the monitor, wide-eyed, and placed his fingers to the screen on Tom's cheek.

"God, Tom," he whispered sadly. "I'd love to keep you warm. I'd love to keep you safe in my bed. I….I love _you_, Tom."

Danny placed his fingertips under Hanson's chin to make him lift his head. The young officer's eyes were half-way open and staring blankly ahead of him. Though they appeared void of any sort of emotion, Penhall could discern the disgrace and killed pride he tried to conceal.

"Didn't know they allowed fags onto the police force," Danny snickered. "Thought it was reserved for _real_ men."

The comment received a good deal of laughter from his accomplices, yet it garnered a string of strongly worded sentences to fly from Doug's mouth.

The time crept along at a snail's pace, and Doug wondered how much longer they would keep Hanson under the shower head – more so, he wondered how much longer Hanson could endure it.

Twenty minutes of ceaseless frigid water pouring on him passed, and none displayed any signs of turning it off. Tom's lips had become a light shade of blue violet, and his skin had paled. He would not be surprised if icicles were forming on him, for it certainly felt as if a hoard of them was stabbing him everywhere.

"How ya doin', Officer Hanson?" Eric questioned with a smirk.

Tom uttered something, but it was so quiet that no one could hear it.

"What was that? We missed it."

"C-C-C-C-Co-Cold," he stammered. "S-S-So c-c-c-cold."

"Had enough?"

"Y-Y-Yes. P-Pl-P-Please."

Five more minutes ticked by before the faucet was turned to off. Tom gasped frantically for air, sounding as if he had been held underwater for a period of time and almost drowned. There were no towels to wrap around him, leaving Andrew to simply drag his soaked form on the ground by his wrist. They left him on the floor next to the bed before retreating up the stairs and locking him in.

Tom was shuddering fiercely and wheezing softly. Though his body protested any sort of movement, he forced himself to his knees to grab onto the mattress and after much toil, he pulled himself onto the bed. His energy was fading rapidly, making him act as fast as he could to slither underneath the two thin bed sheets. He rested his head on two of the three pillows, curled up snuggly on his side, and clutched the covers to him like they were a lifeline. They did not provide much warmth by any means, though he was beyond grateful that he had something to cocoon himself in instead of nothing at all. What little heat they did give was growing less due to his freezing body drenching the sheets with water. His thin frame was by now fairly numb, yet he felt a collective throbbing sensation all over him. The anguish of his feet had been substantially lessened because his mind merely identified the dangerously low body-temperature and demanded more heat.

Thoroughly exhausted, he let his wearied eyes close and attempted to fall asleep. It did not work; however, his body was in such a state of shock, that his mind shut down to cause unconsciousness.

Doug inhaled deeply and rubbed his face. He was worn out himself, and it was only because Tom's suffering was done for the evening and he was lost in oblivion that Doug went to lie down on the couch. He refused to use the blanket nearby even though he was chilly; it felt wrong to have it when Tom had practically nothing.

Passing one last glance at the computer for the night, he muttered a despondent "good night, Tom" before he let himself go to sleep for the night.


	2. Chapters 4, 5

****

Chapter Four

Two thousand hits. In only one day, Hanson's torture had been viewed by two thousand people. The count was increasing at an impressive rate. With every passing minute, an average of twenty people opened the website page.

"This is terrible," Judy said aloud at her desk while exploring the site. "Who knew there were so many sick people out there to watch this sort of stuff?"

She glanced away to see Ioki sit on the edge of her desk. He picked up a pencil to fiddle with in his hands, took one look at her desktop screen, and gave a depressed smile.

"Your turn to monitor what's going on?" he asked.

She nodded solemnly. "I got a call from Fuller at four this morning telling me that we were going to start watching in shifts. I think it's a good idea so that we can make sure not to miss anything that may be helpful to find him. But I don't know how long I can. It's so….And I think Doug will watch every minute of it, whether it's his turn to or not. That can't be healthy."

"He's really been taking this hard. He still feels guilty about that night."

"I know. When are you supposed to be watching?"

"I think from five to nine this evening. I had between six and nine this morning. Thank god nothing happened. He was sleeping the whole time."

"Booker tell you what they did to him last night?"

"No. What?"

"They took a sledgehammer to his ankles."

Harry sighed and shook his head sadly. "Jesus. Any idea yet on who these guys could be? I already looked into ten kids Hanson's arrested, and they're all still in juvenile lock up."

"My search came up short too. All of them are still in lock up as well or moved away." She clicked on a link and her eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh my god. You'll never believe this. Listen to these comments: 'Rightful justice is served. I support you five whole-heartedly; He deserves to die for committing murder. Can't wait until the time runs out; Cigarette burns would look nice on his body; Make him beg for food; Loved the foot crushing with the hammer; More broken bones, please.' They go on and on down the page saying how much they enjoy watching them humiliate him and offer ideas of what to do to him. I can't believe it."

"Are you serious?"

"I wish I wasn't." She glanced up and said softly, "Look, there's Doug."

Ioki followed Judy's gaze to see Doug sauntering in and going to his desk. From where they were sitting, he appeared like a total wreck. His hair was disheveled, clothes terribly mismatched as if he had gotten dressed in the dark, and his expression was completely devoid of any emotion, though strongly suggested that he was tired and ill. He acquired a phone book and flipped through the pages for several minutes before pausing on a page he seemed satisfied with.

"Wanna go ask?" Ioki questioned, receiving a nod from Judy.

They started across the room, but were stopped halfway by Fuller. In contrast to Doug's sickly look, Fuller was lively and clearly not happy.

"Did you two catch the news this morning?" he inquired glumly.

The two cops simultaneously answered, "No."

"Well, I'm sure you'll see more on it tonight. The press has caught wind of Hanson's ordeal and is ready to exploit it in newspapers and television, as usual. I'm not sure how they found out – I wouldn't expect them to have gone searching for something like it online – and the phones are ringing off the hook with reporters wanting more. As a result, we've been asked to attend a press conference to answer questions and inform them of what's going on. Not the best thing to do, in my opinion, but that's what city council wants. You both are coming with me to it. I would have Penhall tag along as well, but I don't think he's prepared to publicly deal with what's happening to his partner."

Judy nodded understandingly. "Captain, I'm really worried about him. As far as I know, he's done nothing but watch the video ever since we learned about the website."

"I'll have a talk with him later and find out what's going on in his head. The conference is at five, and until then, don't answer any questions over the phone about the case from anybody."

"Five o'clock is when I'm supposed to start my 'watch shift'," Ioki stated plainly. "Who's going to do it if I'm tagging along?"

"I'll see if Booker or someone else can do it. It'll be covered."

With a firm nod, Fuller went into his office and shut the door, leaving Hoffs and Ioki to continue on to Doug. He was hanging up the phone when they arrived at his desk and scribbled something down on paper.

"What are you doing?" Hoffs asked kindly.

"Calling around to contractors to see if any new houses have been built recently with an unfinished basement. A nice-sized house considering how spacious the basement is," he spoke distantly. "It has to be somewhere in the area. Can't be too far."

"What if it's not a new house he's in?"

"Doesn't hurt to look into it." He stood, stuffed the notepad he had written on in his coat pocket, and muttered, "I'm going to check out some now."

Without another word or explanation, he was walking to the exit.

"Guess I should get back to keeping an eye on Tom," Judy said dejectedly.

"I think I'm going to take Booker over to North High to talk to some kids – see if they know about anybody Tom and Doug didn't get along with there."

"Good idea."

* * *

The neighborhood Doug came to was one of the more expensive ones in the city limits. The houses were large, and new foundations were being laid for more to be built. He trudged up the driveway of the first house on his right and knocked on the door. A girl who could be no older than twelve answered and stared up at Doug curiously. He smiled and said sweetly, "Hello. My name's Doug and I'd like to ask your parents some questions. Are they home?"

* * *

The conversation with the young girl proved to be helpful. The house at the end of the block, she had said, on the left was unoccupied, though she had seen a few people running in and out on some evenings. When questioned about what these people looked like, she confirmed that they were male and tended to wear dark clothing. That was enough to peak Penhall's interest immensely, but the statement that made him eager to run down the street and bust down the door was that the house did indeed have an unfinished basement.

He did not care about causing any property damage; he kicked the door open and went inside without hesitation. It was an odd feeling to see absolutely nothing in the rooms or on the walls as he wandered through. There was definitely nobody living there. He soon found the stairs, and very cautiously, he started down. His heart was thudding rampantly in his chest as hope burst within him. He prayed that he would find his partner here.

There were no signs of anybody having been there whatsoever.

"Damn it," he verbalized, aggravated. "Damn it."

The discovery was a troubling blow, dousing all optimism he had had just seconds ago. He sat on the bottom step and exhaled a heavy breath.

"Hey, uh, God?" he began uncomfortably, "I know I haven't been to church in years and haven't prayed in years, and….I curse and probably sin all the time, but I figured it couldn't hurt to ask you for help, you know? Because I haven't bothered you before. Listen, I, um….I'm asking you to help me find my partner, Tom. See, he's missing, and this group of guys – they're hurting him. Like, really badly hurting him. If there's anyone to be sent to Hell, Lord, it's them. Give me something, please. People always ask for signs, right? Or miracles? I need some now. He'll die in twelve days if I don't find him, so please help me. That's all I ask….Amen."

He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the silence. It felt awkward to pray because he was not a religious man by any means, but he was willing to try anything. He was not sure if Tom was religious or not….Would it make a difference if he was? Would a response or a sign come quicker if Tom was?

Doug shook his head to eliminate the ridiculous thoughts and got to his feet. No better off than before, he left the house, wholly disappointed with the failure.

* * *

Doug breathed a sigh of thankfulness when he found his suspect of interest at the small bar where he had confronted him the first time. The only way he could get the kid to sit down and, hopefully, spill the beans was to buy him a bottle of beer. He did not care that he was breaking the law by supplying alcohol to a minor, even though he was a cop.

"So, what's this about?" Danny asked with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk on his face.

"Tom," Doug responded simply.

"Ah, so you haven't found him yet?"

"Surely you, like so many others, have seen the website by now and know that he hasn't been."

"I have. Impressive stuff, is it not?" He grinned wickedly from the repulsive expression Doug bore.

"Why don't you just cut the bull shit and start talking because I know you're involved in this somehow."

"How much is it worth to you?"

"I'll give you a hundred dollars, cash, right now if you tell me what you know."

To prove he was not lying, Doug reached into his coat pocket and fished out five twenty-dollar bills and set them on the table they were sitting at. Danny stared at it with mild interest for a brief period before returning his smug gaze to Doug.

"What'dya want to know?"

"What house is he in?"

"I can't tell you."

"Where's it located?"

"Can't tell you."

"What's in the area around it?"

"A school."

"What else?"

"Tracks."

"What sort of tracks?"

"Won't say."

Doug inhaled and exhaled a deep breath in an attempt to ward off his growing frustration. "Are the five men that have him students?"

"Yep."

"What grade?"

"Seniors."

"What school do they go to?"

"North high."

"And that's how you know them?"

"Yep."

"Did your brother know them?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Give me a name. Any one of their names."

"Can't."

"Give me an initial, then."

"E."

"First or last?"

"First."

Doug fell quiet as he processed the new information. It was not much, but he was content with having _something_. He tried to think of any more questions he could ask that would have a solid answer, though nothing came to mind.

"Have you had him?"

The query made Doug focus once more on the teenager in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"Tom - Have you had sex with him?"

Doug's face flushed red with anger, and he did his best to keep his voice steady and calm. "How is that any of your business?"

"You have. You slept with him."

"So what if I have? It's none of your god damn business, and I'm not going to sit here and talk about it with you."

"Just wondering because if you hadn't, you sure as hell wouldn't want to bang him now, seeing as how he's been putting out for five different guys."

"You unbelievable son of a bitch," Doug growled. It took all the restraint he could gather to prevent himself from lashing out to choke him.

"Consider yourself lucky," Danny stated arrogantly as he stood up, "that you laid him before he became a filthy slut. They say he's just as good a fuck as any girl: ready to have someone ride him at any time."

That was it. Doug was on his feet and wasted no time at throwing the first punch.

* * *

There was no way to tell time from where he was kept underground. No clocks were hanging on the wall; no alarm clock around, and the two windows that looked out to ground level did not provide much of a view due to tall grass and weeds growing in front of it.

It was only because Tom was lying statuesque on the bed and felt somewhat brain-dead that he was able to focus on any sort of sound to be heard. He had merely acknowledged the silence up until then because his sense of hearing was not the one being put through hell at the moment, thus making it not too important; there was hardly a reason to focus on anything other than what he physically felt. Besides, it was all he could do; the pain consumed every part of his being.

He had not moved whatsoever from the position he had left himself in the night before. The sheet was still being held securely in his numb hands under his chin. It clung to his nude form from being soaked with water and was cold beyond all reason, but he had refused to let go. He felt a sense of safety under its protection and felt stupid for feeling such a thing. It was nothing but a piece of fabric, yet it was the single thing he could wrap himself in that would hide his entire body, unlike the pair of boxers he had-

And where had _they_ gone? He had not paid attention to where they were tossed when they had been ripped off of him. _That_ piece of fabric was undoubtedly important; he knew he could not get around with the sheet enveloping him since he had to crawl anywhere he wanted to go, and the cover would simply slide off along the way. From where he lay on his side, his sullen brown eyes scanned the floor in front of him. He spotted them and groaned in dismay. They were wadded up on the ground by the far right corner, which would be a long and grueling endeavor to get to because he could not simply walk to them.

"They're killing me," he whispered exasperatedly. "Damn it."

He closed his eyes, but they opened wide not a minute later from the new sound that reached him. It was the music of chimes, and he gave a small smile from what it was. He remembered the tune from when he was no older than five, though he had forgotten who had taught it to him and why.

"Big Ben tells time," he sang extraordinarily softly. "Up in the tower."

He shifted to rest on his back and closed his eyes sleepily. The tones were quiet, somewhere off in the distance, but he could vaguely make out what time it was.

"One….Two….Three," he counted aloud.

All fell silent, and it was not long before he was asleep once again.

* * *

It was two days later when Tom heard another distinct sound from the outside world. It started as a low grumble that gradually grew louder. A blaring horn soon sounded more than once, and he let his attention revert back to his recently dislocated shoulder after ascertaining what it was.

Doug could hear it too from where he sat transfixed in front of the computer. It was tremendously faint, but it was enough for him to guess what it was. He scribbled "train" next to the word "tracks" in his notepad, feeling a tiny amount of accomplishment from having another solid fact.

"A school, train tracks, and most likely in the North High district zone," he mumbled as he studied his notes. "Has to be in a good neighborhood with other nice, big houses. Most likely unoccupied because who the hell would let five teenagers hold a cop hostage in a basement to torture? Surely none of their parents are that twisted to let them use their basements for it. Has to be somewhere else."

His deductions were interrupted when he spotted the five captors come onto the screen. Tom had been huddled in the far right corner of the room and was now being lugged across the floor to be forced onto the bed.

"Oh god," Doug sighed as Hanson's wrists were placed into the cuffs hanging off the headboard posts. Watching his partner be raped was proving to be the most painful thing he had ever known. It made him sick to not be able to stop them.

Instead of removing the only clothing Hanson wore as he had expected them to, two of them sat on his legs, preventing him from moving in any way, two lit up cigarettes to smoke, and the fifth tormentor was reading a piece of paper in his hand. This change of events had Penhall mildly puzzled and extremely concerned. What were they planning?

Tom stared expectantly at the one he knew to be Danny and wanted to ask what they were going to do, though thought better of it. Whenever he talked he was usually rewarded with a fierce slap across the face.

"Looks like there's several people who'd like to see this," Danny stated indifferently as he skimmed the comments that he had printed off the website. "And in some of the same places as well. Most just ask for it in general. You guys can start whenever you like; I want the whole cartridge to be used."

Andrew and Travis exchanged mischievous glances before taking their cigarettes between their fingers. Travis was first to put his out by pressing it into Tom's skin. The chained officer emitted a pitiful moan from the searing sensation on his stomach. He attempted to writhe about and get away, but he could barely move at all. The side of his neck was suddenly being burned from Andrew pushing the glowing end of his tobacco stick against it. His head jerked to the left, causing the cigarette to drag on his skin and injure a new spot. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, fighting back tears and the urge to make any sort of noise brought on by the pain. It proved difficult, yet he succeeded and was thrilled when the spent cigarettes were discarded on the ground a couple of minutes later.

The celebration did not last long.

Another lit cigarette made contact with his shoulder, and one was making its mark on the left side of his chest soon after. When the following one pushed into his navel, he could not keep himself from crying out.

"Someone will be happy with that," Danny muttered. "Let's see where else people suggest."

"Stop. Please," Tom said in a trembling voice. "Please."

"I'm sorry, Tommy," the teen replied with feigned regret. "But there are still nineteen more to go."

Hanson nearly screamed when Andrew pressed one onto his nipple. The five males laughed at his pain, and it fueled them to do more. His other areola was singed as well; eight burns colored his arms, four on each one; three cigs were put out on his hips; and his garment was slid down to his ankles to provide unhindered access to his most sensitive body parts. As the tip of a cigarette was squashed against his upper right calf, Derick pressed his to Hanson's left testicle. Hanson virtually shrieked, tears streamed from his eyes, and he began to thrash about as much as he could. The feeling of burning cigarettes on his legs hardly registered due to the agony Derick caused with just one. He was breathing heavily and constantly whimpering now, not caring at all about them seeing him crumble and giving up trying to be strong.

The last cig was put to his tear streaked face on his right cheek. He laid utterly still in defeat as the searing anguish tore through him. His body was exhausted and blanketed with sweat and the freshly acquired wounds. He could not bear to look at himself, making him keep his eyes closed even now that they were done.

"You look gorgeous, Tom," Danny snickered. "How do you feel?"

"Leave me alone," Hanson whispered weakly. "Just go away. Please."

"Alright. Whatever you want. But we need to do one more thing before we go."

His arms dropped to the mattress from his wrists being freed from their bounds. Not permitting him any sort of time to recover, he was flung to the floor and taken into the bathroom. Once they entered, Hanson knew what they were planning on doing, and he used every ounce of energy and strength he possessed to fight them off. The result was that he was even more worn out than before.

After getting Hanson to his feet, which were grossly discolored and swollen, Eric turned on the shower to its most freezing temperature. Tom's body reacted in much the same way it had the night before by shaking incessantly while he gasped for air. There was no denying that the cold water washing over his singed flesh felt rather amazing, though.

Thirty minutes passed before the shower ended; Hanson fell unconscious the second after the water was turned off.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Hanson turned the knob to the right and leaned forward from where he was kneeling next to the bathtub. He lowered his head beneath the faucet, opened his mouth, and let the cool water rush in. Greedily, he swallowed the liquid down, satiating his parched throat. Drinking water was his only option to fill his stomach. He had been provided very small meals during his stay – things like bread and a little bag of chips every other day. His hunger up until the present had not been a serious problem. Now, he felt constantly sick from having such tiny portions, and his stomach voiced its discontent frequently.

After consuming enough to make him feel as if he were full, he turned the water off and slumped against the tub. Tiredly, he rubbed his face, wincing at the pain his hand caused by gliding over the burn on his cheek. It reminded him at how afraid he was to look at himself in the mirror above the sink. The image reflected back, he knew, would be hollow and disfigured terribly. His features were no longer appealing, nor was his body after having been consistently misused, causing his heart to be cut apart; there was absolutely no way Doug would want him, much less even look at him. There was no way _anyone_ would be able to look at him.

He wiped his damp eyes and gave a small laugh. "Guess I should be happy that we did it before all this," he spoke faintly. "My first and only time with him….I'm sorry, Doug."

The distinct sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs reached his ears and sent a bolt of fear slithering down his spine. The thudding of footsteps made him frantically look around as if an answer would form in thin air and tell him what to do. Without a second thought, he lunged at the door, slamming it closed, locked it, and remained on the floor, sitting with his back against the entrance. His eyes darted about the small space, frenziedly trying to find anything that he could use as protection. He heard the voices before the pounding of a fist on the door, making him yelp in surprise and panic even more.

"Open the door, Tom," Danny said with a good deal of calmness, though Tom did not miss the undertone of rage beneath it. "You'll make things very bad for yourself."

Tom searched the cabinet under the sink and discovered nothing but a plunger. Hurriedly, he retrieved it and dragged himself to hide behind where the door would open. He clutched it in his hands so tightly that his knuckles where turning white; his grip became slightly stronger when the banging on the door grew frequent and more forceful.

_What are you going to do with this, Tom? It's pathetic. You won't do anything other than make them brutalize you more._

He squeezed his eyes shut for a short moment, debating on whether or not to go through with it. His decision was made as the door suddenly burst open. As the entrance slowly drifted closed behind the man who had entered, Hanson clenched his teeth and swung as hard as he could at the back of the person's knees. The impact knocked Andrew to the floor, and Hanson wasted no time before striking him again. He succeeded in executing a number of blows to the teen's head, back, and legs until Travis pried the object from his grasp and Derick smacked him powerfully enough to knock him completely backward to the ground. He emitted a soft groan from the contact his head made with the floor and voiced several more whimpers as he was viciously kicked repeatedly.

"You probably shouldn't have done that," Eric stated with an amused smirk.

"You must be a hard learner, Tommy," Danny added. "Get him in the tub."

Hanson's head hung limply as he was hoisted up to his feet. He mumbled something as he fought off unconsciousness and tried to form a sentence. Fingers tugged on his hair to make him look up, letting his grieving eyes stare at the five tormentors.

"You like cold, Hanson?"

"N-N-No," he answered dumbly, wishing to God that his feet would be severed from his body as he stood under the shower head.

"No?"

"N-No."

"Let's try something different then, shall we?"

The instant the water was turned on, Hanson regretted ever responding at all to the question. He yelled in extreme pain as the hottest possible water rushed over his beaten frame. Continuous cries of agony came from him while he struggled to get free, even though he knew it was of no use.

"Turn it off!" he shouted desperately. "Please! Turn it off!"

"Seems that he dislikes this one more than the cold ones," Danny said with a broad grin.

"God, please. Turn it off." His voice had dropped in volume as he sobbed unwillingly; it was also considerably more pitiable and frail. "Please. Let me go. Make it stop."

"You should've known better. This is what you get."

The scalding liquid made him feel as if he were submerged in an inferno. How high did the temperature have to be to melt human flesh? He knew the water was not hot enough for that, but it did not stop him from wanting to dissipate; any type of form would do fine: evaporating, melting to a liquid, _any_thing.

The faucet knob was turned to shut off the water approximately eight minutes later. He was not shocked to find that he had minor burns to accompany the ones he already had. Roughly, he was pulled out of the bathtub and carried into the main part of the basement. They dropped him on the ground several feet away from the bed and huddled around him.

"You know, we were going to give you something to eat," Danny said as if he were disappointed.

"A heaping plateful of food," Eric added.

"But then you go and fuck it up for yourself. Your hands should be taught a lesson too, or at least one; they did hold the plunger."

"Which one?"

"How 'bout left?"

Tom was sprawled out on his back, constantly voicing his distress weakly. He did not notice the hammer until it crashed onto his left hand. A wail tore itself from his throat, followed shortly after by another one spawned from being struck once again with the tool. He could not keep count of how many times the hammer violently assaulted him; whatever the number was, it was enough to leave his hand and wrist shattered and bleeding.

"Oh god," he forced out between his rapid breaths. "Leave me alone. Please. God, please."

"God's not here, Tom," Danny spoke spitefully into the officer's ear. "Your judgment's coming from me, and you've been charged with murder. You deserve this pain. You deserve to die, Officer Hanson."

The teenager slapped Tom strongly before he stood up and made his way upstairs, his four accomplices following. Tom curled up on his left side and wept inconsolably. He cradled his broken hand to his chest, crying out from the agony it caused him.

Helplessly, he wriggled around on the cement floor, soon shifting to rest on his back once more. His legs kicked immensely weakly at nothing on their own accord while his head rocked from side to side. The quivering whines he produced came at Doug like insufferable knives. It was all becoming too much; he would give anything to switch places with Tom to save him from the pain he was in and that was to come. He covered his face as tears started to pour from his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," he whispered. "I'm sorry I can't find you. I'm sorry I can't help you. I love you, Tom. God, I love you."

It was another sleepless night for both.

* * *

It was everywhere. The papers, TV news stations, gossip all over the internet, and talked about frequently between people. The gruesome content of , the ever-present countdown, and the fact that close to one million people had checked out the website according to the visitor count made it no surprise that Tom Hanson's tragic situation gained national attention. Every morning, Doug had to push his way through the large crowd of reporters and camera operators to get inside the Jump Street chapel, evading answering any questions as well. It was difficult to refrain from punching any one of them; Tom was nothing but a story to them, and they merely wanted to give the American public the flavor of the week by exploiting someone's pain.

His patience and restraint ran out seven days before Tom was to be murdered.

Groups of protestors had gathered outside the chapel, flaunting signs with "GOD HATES HANSON," "NO FAGS ON THE FORCE," "SUPPORT THE FIVE FOR DOING GOD'S WILL," "MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF T.H. FOR BEING A FAG AND KILLER," "MURDER IS CRIME AND HIS PUNISHMENT FITS IT," "HARMING THE YOUTH OF AMERICA," "LET KILLERS BE KILLED" written on them, and Doug's hate that had been reserved for Tom's kidnappers was now directed at these people. He lost control when one of them shouted, "Your partner will burn in hell for what he is and what he's done!" Frankly, it did not matter to him who he hit, as long as he made clean contact with someone's face. His fist went flying and chaos broke loose around him. He figured he had struck around five or six people before he was pulled back and forced inside. It was Fuller who had a hold of him and marched him into his office.

"Have a seat, Penhall," Fuller said stiffly.

"I'd rather stand."

"What the hell was that out there?"

"Someone had to do something! How can you just let them parade around with those signs and spread that nonsense bull shit about Hanson?!"

"Because it's their right, Doug. Yes, it's very upsetting to see, but there's nothing we can do. You may not know it, but we are being closely watched by the city now ever since Hanson's disappearance. We can't afford incidents like the one you just had to gain more negative press and talk. They're already using Hanson as an excuse to cut funding for the Jump Street program. Having an officer lose control like that will only give them more reason to."

"Coach, I can't….I can't just stand back and watch these people throw his name in the dirt."

"I know. Which is why I want you to take a few days off, get away from them."

"Captain-"

"Go home. And for at least one day, I don't want you anywhere near a computer."

"But I-"

"Leave it. Clear your head and get some rest. It's taking a toll on you more than you think. You'll be more helpful if you take care of yourself. One day is all I ask. Can you do that?"

Doug did not respond for a short period. Fuller simply gazed at him patiently while waiting for a reply. "Yeah, I can do that," Doug stated reluctantly and nodded his head.

"Good. Now go home."

Doug turned to leave, yet he paused when he got to the door. He swallowed a knot in his throat and closed his eyes briefly. "Captain?"

"Yes?"

"I….I don't know what I'll do if he dies," he voiced softly. "I don't know what I'll do."

Penhall made to exit again, though stopped when Fuller spoke. "We won't let him die. We will find him, and we will find him alive. Don't lose hope yet."

Penhall bit his lip, sniffed, and tapped the doorframe with his hand. "Yeah," he whispered vaguely as he departed, only half-heartedly believing that they would get to his partner in time.

* * *

Despite the heavy protest within him, Doug treaded to his computer first thing when he entered his apartment with the intent of turning it off. He stole a glance at the screen to see Tom diligently working on wrapping his left wrist and hand with one of the bed sheets. It was evident that he was greatly struggling with it, mostly due to the large amount of fabric he had to handle, but he knew it would be a good thing – and hopefully help it to feel better – if it was kept snuggly enveloped to prevent it from moving and to serve as a bit of protection.

"Just….Do it," Penhall muttered to himself. "Just do it. Get it done."

After several minutes of debating back and forth, Penhall finally shut the computer down. For awhile, he merely stared at the blank screen. The image may have been gone, but he could still picture Tom in his mind; it was impossible to remove the younger officer completely from his thoughts at any given time.

Doug roamed aimlessly around his apartment for an hour or so, looking for something to do, though nothing held his focus. There were numerous times where he almost turned the system back on, yet he was able to catch himself before doing it.

Realizing that he could not lie down long enough to get any rest and noting the heavy temptation from the dormant computer, he left his apartment. He ended up at a bar not long after and began a descent into a drunken stupor.

* * *

The alcohol pushed thoughts of Tom away for the majority of the evening. It was not until Doug returned to his apartment around eleven o'clock that his partner consumed every piece of his mind. He was too drunk to make it upstairs in bed, leaving one of the couches as an alternative. With a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand, he stretched out on the piece of furniture and stared emptily at the ceiling. It would have been a lie to say he was not happy about missing whatever hardships Hanson endured throughout the day because he was; consistently observing the many forms of abuse Hanson suffered was tearing him apart. He could not function – could not sleep, could hardly eat, could barely hold a conversation with anyone, and could not stop his pondering of Hanson every second. He felt wholly detached from everything around him as if he were a ghost. So many days had gone by without seeing his partner truly smile and without Tom being physically near him that he could not remember the last time he had felt any sort of joy.

Tom's death would be the end of him.

He at last fell asleep only to be woken up three hours later by the phone ringing. He grumbled his discontent as he heaved himself off of the couch to retrieve the damn thing. The clock read two-fifteen, making him mumble curse words without even knowing who it was. He snatched the cordless receiver, shuffled back to the couch, and collapsed onto it with a tired sigh.

"Hello?" he muttered in a low tone, his eyes closing as he drifted towards sleep.

No answer.

"_Hello_?" he stated more grumpily than before.

"How are you dealing with the absence of your partner, Officer Penhall?" The voice was smooth and freakishly friendly.

Penhall bolted upright, his eyes now wide open. "Who is this?"

"If you don't wish for me to drag out his pain any longer, you can tell me right now to just go ahead and kill him. It would certainly be merciful."

"Who the hell is this?"

"Or perhaps you enjoy watching him be fucked by men and mistreated, and you wouldn't want it to end prematurely. There is, after all, only six more days left."

"Tell me your fucking name!"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Doug pressed the phone against his ear harder to hear anything. He was shaking with anger and ready to hurl the phone across the room when a soft, trembling voice at last sounded.

"Doug?"

Instead of making it to the opposite end of the area, the receiver in Doug's hand almost dropped to the ground from the utter shock that hit him. He opened his mouth to speak, though nothing came out.

"Doug?" the frail voice asked again.

"T-Tom? Tom, is that you?"

The response was delayed for a brief moment as Tom gained control of his sobs. "Hi, Dougie," he whispered, and Penhall could tell from the way he said it that he was smiling, if only a little.

The tears running down the older cop's cheeks went unnoticed as he cradled the phone to his ear and tried to form a coherent sentence. "Hey, Tommy."

"It's so good to hear your voice."

Doug gave a small laugh and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's good to hear yours too. God, I miss you, Tom."

"I'd hope so," Tom said lightheartedly. "I wouldn't want to be forgotten yet."

"No, no, God no. Never. I couldn't. I need you, Tom. Where are you? Tell me and I swear I'll come and kill them and get you."

"You know I can't tell you. Besides, _I_ don't even know where I am."

"I'll keep looking. I'll find you. I promise."

A few quivering breaths sounded as Tom continued to cry. "Don't. Don't come find me."

Doug felt as if someone had punched him. "What? Tom-"

"Don't waste your time, okay? Just let it go. Please. Don't come after me."

"Tom, I can't abandon you."

"Please, Doug." The tone was pleading, sending a wave of grief over Doug to drown in. "Don't. I'm gonna die soon anyway; I know it. I don't know when and I don't know how they'll do it, but it'll be soon. I can't say that I'm all that sad about it; I'm ready for it to be over. So please, Doug, please do that for me. Promise me you'll stop looking for me."

"Tommy-"

"Promise me. Please, Doug." Hanson's breathing had quickened and was now coming in rapid increments, making him pause for a couple of seconds in-between words.

"Okay. I promise. I promise."

Doug had begun weeping uncontrollably as well. It felt like drinking a vile of poison to make such a horrible promise, even though he was not going to abide it.

"Can you do me a favor? Doug?"

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm here. What is it?"

"Can you take care of my mom for me? Just make sure she's alright. Make sure she's happy and well-cared for if she meets someone, okay?"

"Okay."

"Tell her I saved some money in an account for her in case she ever needs it. She can withdraw it at the bank whenever she wants."

"I'll tell her."

"D-Doug?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

The knife that had already been working its way into Doug's heart finally sunk in entirely. He was helplessly falling apart. "I love you too. God, I love you, Tom."

"G-Good b-bye, Doug."

"No, Tom, wait. Wait! Don't go!"

The younger man did not speak again. The next voice Penhall heard was that of the one he had talked to before.

"Am I not generous, letting you say goodbye?"

"You'd be generous if you let him go," Penhall spat venomously.

"Ah, well, that I can't do. But I'll tell you what: I'll let you see him for a last time before he dies."

"Bull shit."

"I kid you not."

"What's the cost?"

"Six hundred dollars."

"Shit," he whispered almost inaudibly. He rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how he could get such a sum of money in such a short amount of time. "When would I get to see him?"

"Tomorrow at midnight."

"Where?"

"I'll call you beforehand to divulge that. There are conditions you must follow, however, in order to visit him."

"Like what?"

"No one else is to come with you. You and you alone are to come. No backup force of police hiding out. If I see anyone other than you or even think that you aren't alone, I'll put a bullet in his head right then and there before you even have a chance to take a gander at him. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"Good. Expect a phone call, then, at ten o'clock this evening, Officer Penhall."

There was no chance to answer. A click sounded, and Doug hung up as well. He was motionless for a moment, staring vacantly ahead of him, before he tossed the phone to the floor and buried his face in his hands.

"Six hundred dollars," he uttered despairingly. "I don't even think I have _two_ hundred."

For the next hour and a half, he scoured his apartment in search of funds. He successfully scrounged up two-hundred seventeen dollars and fifty cents before he lost his energy and passed out on the couch for the rest of the night.


	3. Chapter 6

A/N: tewksgirl - would you recommend Untraceable? You're the fourth person to ask me if I've seen it, and I haven't! lol It sounds good, and if it's like this, I probably should see it. XD

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Being disturbed at nine in the morning was bad enough for Booker, but being interrupted from the woman he had in his bed made him terribly irritated. He had originally planned to ignore the knocks, though that did not work when the pounding became persistent on his apartment door. He shrugged on a bathrobe, tying the sash around his waist as he went to answer it. When he opened the door, Doug lowered his fist and gave a small smile upon seeing Booker's annoyed expression.

"This had better be good because I was in the middle of something important," Booker said testily.

"It is. I….I need your help."

"With what?"

"Can I borrow three-hundred and eighty-three dollars?"

Booker cocked his head in disbelief. "Three hundred and eighty-three dollars."

Doug nodded.

"For what?"

"Just….Can I? I'll tell you later."

The anxious glint in Doug's eyes made Dennis soften a little. "Is it something having to do with Tom?"

"It, um…." He sighed and gave a slight shake of his head. "Yeah. Some guy called me at like, two this morning. Tom, he was right there, _right there_, and….I can visit him if I get six hundred bucks."

"But there's no chance you could get him to safety, is there? They told you to come alone, or else, right?"

"Yeah."

"You think it's a good idea to do this?"

"He's going to die in six days; I just wanna see him one last time before he's gone. Please."

There was a pause before Dennis stepped aside and said, "Come on. I think I've got enough."

Doug strode inside and voiced a quiet, "Thank you," as he followed Booker into the living room. He waited there while the other cop disappeared into the bedroom. After a few minutes, Booker re-emerged and handed Penhall a wad of dollar bills.

"I'll pay you back, man. I swear," Penhall vowed sincerely.

"Don't worry about it. Be careful when you go, alright?"

"I will. Thanks."

"Hey, um….Tell him goodbye for me," Dennis said softly.

Doug smiled a little and gave a sharp nod as he moved to leave, uttering another gracious "thank you" before walking out the door.

* * *

The entirety of the day was spent fretting over when the phone would ring. Doug kept the receiver with him every minute, no matter where he went in his apartment. Occasionally, he turned it on just to ensure that it was working. He could hardly stay in one place for an extended period of time. His nerves were on edge, and he incessantly thought about what it would be like to finally have Tom right in front of him – to hold him, to tell him in person all the things he had discovered that he felt for Tom ever since they had been parted, to relieve the younger man's pain if only for a little while.

His self-control had caved early on, causing him to return to monitoring Tom intently like he had before; it was impossible for him to stay away from the site any longer. As if it had not been torn in half previously, his heart shattered from watching his partner endure a lengthy beating in the afternoon, followed by the five males sexually assaulting him. They let him take a short rest before dragging him into the bathroom and submerging him in the tub filled with hot water. He was held beneath the surface, water splashing over the side as he thrashed about. After a minute, they would allow him to sit up to catch his breath before pushing him under for another sixty seconds.

The hot bath was contrasted with a freezing cold shower five minutes later, which lasted an additional ten minutes. Though his body was washed clean of the blood and semen that had tainted his skin, it was soon replaced with more as they pummeled him with their fists and a wood baseball bat and kicked him about on the cement floor. When they were done, he was barely conscious and breathing shallowly. He did not even seem to realize that he was being defiled again as Derick thrust wildly in and out of him. It felt wrong, but Doug could not help from wishing that _he_ was the one on top of Hanson and experiencing the pleasures to be had from being inside of the younger cop. There would be a difference, however; he would be certain that Hanson wanted it first and make sure to provide him with as much enjoyment as he could. It would be because of love, not because of the hunger to dominate, nor the unwavering lust that Hanson's captors seemed to share.

When ten o'clock at last arrived, Doug was pacing back and forth fretfully, gripping the phone tightly in his hands. It rang, making him stop instantly and look at it as if he had imagined the sound. The second ring confirmed that he was by no means dreaming. He pressed the button to answer it and raised it to his ear hesitantly.

"Hello?"

"Did you obtain the six hundred dollars?" the person asked calmly.

"Yes I did."

"Good. In two hours, go to Cessna Park and wait by the swings."

"And you'll be there with him."

There was a trembling cry of pain in the background before Doug received a response. "We'll be there with him."

"What are you doing to him?"

"Three of us had to put out cigarettes, and there aren't any ashtrays down here."

"You heartless bastard," Doug growled bitterly.

"He serves as a nice substitute for one. See you at midnight, officer. Oh, and, by the way, bring an extra fifteen dollars if you'd like to fuck him or have him suck you off. He's amazing at giving oral."

Malicious laughter was the last thing Doug heard before there was complete silence on the other end of the line. Without a second thought, he hurled the phone across the room. It collided with the wall and fell to the floor in several different pieces.

* * *

Tom was exceedingly nervous about being taken from his basement solitude. Roughly, he was dragged upstairs by his wrists, creating unimaginable agony for him due to the broken bones of his left one. The house was fairly empty, having only a couple of pieces of furniture here and there, solidifying his belief that no one lived there; no one could hear him if he ever called for help.

Handcuffs secured his wrists behind his back before they took him outside, and as he was hauled toward the trunk of a black car, he was able to spot the house number before being blindfolded.

663.

Dutifully, he committed the three digits to memory; there was a chance that they would be useful, he believed.

Once he was locked away in the trunk of the vehicle and felt the car moving, he wondered if this was finally it. Was this his day to die? Were they taking him to some secluded place to do the murder so that his body would most likely not be found anytime soon? He had not bothered asking these questions when they first started up the basement stairs because he knew better; his words just got him into more trouble.

Approximately twenty minutes later, they came to a stop, and he heard the back pop open. He was lifted out and flung to the ground. The night air was cold, making him shiver and long for heat. There were murmurs of low voices not far off, and they grew louder as he was brought closer to the sources.

"Where's the money?"

"Here. I didn't feel like bringing an extra fifteen."

"What a shame."

"How long do I get to see him for?"

"Ten minutes."

"That's it?"

"Would you like it to be five?"

"Ten's great."

The voices abruptly went silent when he was almost to them. He was released from the firm grips that had held his arms, and a strip of duct tape was placed over his mouth. His breathing became ragged with fear and uncertainty from the absence of anyone touching him and because of the utter quietness.

Doug fought away the tears that were brewing in his eyes as he knelt down in front of his best friend and took in his appearance. It was definitely Tom Hanson that he was gazing at, but the younger man he had known before all of this was hard to find: the starved frame, the numerous circular burn wounds adorning his skin, the horrendous bruises everywhere, the extraordinarily battered face, the grossly mangled feet and crippled left hand, and the look of total shame and pain that was painted on his countenance rather than the familiar composed and gentle look Doug had always known.

With trembling hands, he reached out and unhurriedly pushed the blindfold up to reveal Hanson's closed and swollen eyes. He removed it completely to run his fingers through the young cop's tousled hair a few times before cupping the beaten face in his hands. Still, Hanson did not open his eyes; his breathing merely became faster.

"Tommy?"

This was not possible. There was positively no way Doug was in front of him. It was his mind playing cruel tricks on him. It was just a joke to wound him deeply.

"Tom, look at me. Please."

Tentatively, Tom obeyed, though with difficulty. When he discovered that it was indeed Doug Penhall touching him, his eyes widened and filled with tears. He tried to say his friend's name, yet it came out as nothing but an incoherent sound due to the tape barrier. As the water droplets spilled down his cheeks, he threw himself at Doug, yearning to feel the protection the older male always seemed to provide. Penhall held him snugly to his chest, repeatedly kissing the top of Tom's head. Tom frantically struggled to free his bound wrists to wrap his arms around the strong, muscular body, not caring about the tremendous anguish the endeavor caused him. He continually whimpered softly as he nuzzled his face against Penhall's neck and attempted to have as much contact as he could with the person he loved.

Observing the effort Hanson was making to liberate himself, Doug questioned quietly, "Can't you take those off?"

"It'll cost an extra fifty."

"I have it. I'll give it to you before we get out of here, just do it now. Please."

The instant the handcuffs were gone, Tom snaked his arms around Doug's torso; Doug cradled him tenderly, rocking from side to side ever so slightly. He quaked immensely in Penhall's embrace as he sobbed hysterically. Comforting words were spoken gently into his ear with an occasional kiss being placed affectionately onto his cheek.

"I love you," Doug wept sorrowfully. "I love you so much, Tommy. I can't be without you. I want to spend my life with you – to wake up to you every morning and go to sleep with you in my arms every night. I love you. I hate that I realized it too late."

Tom abruptly and hurriedly began tracing what could only be described as random patterns to Doug on the older officer's back. The tips of his thumb and forefinger worked rigorously on their task, which simply confused Doug beyond all reason. When Tom stopped a moment later, he pulled away from Penhall and gazed at him anxiously.

"What? What is it?" Penhall asked in a whisper.

Tom buried his face against his friend's chest and started the process again. This time, Doug concentrated intently on what was being outlined on him. It felt like letters, though whatever Hanson was spelling, it was spelled backwards from Doug's point of view. It took one more try before Doug figured it out.

Clock.

"Clock? Like a church or something? There's a clock tower nearby where they're keeping you?" Doug spoke into Hanson's ear.

Hanson nodded eagerly.

"Train tracks too?"

The response was the same.

"What else?"

Hanson pressed his fingers into Doug's back to write out something else. It was only three characters long, and Penhall had absolutely no clue as to what it was. He stared at Tom with puzzlement, not understanding the marks.

"Tom, I don't know what it is."

It was plainly evident that Tom was growing upset as he made to repeat the action once more. His fingers moved at a faster pace as his heart pounded quickly in his chest. It was the most important piece of information he could offer, and he had to reveal it by using Doug's back in order to not be seen by the five masked teenagers. He knew it would be catastrophic if any of them found out what he was doing.

"I don't know what you're trying to tell me," Doug whispered helplessly.

Tom stared at him pleadingly, making distraught noises as he made to trace again. He was prohibited from doing so, however, when his arm was suddenly grabbed and he was pulled back. Frenziedly, he fought to return to where he had been sitting in Doug's lap, though he was nowhere near strong enough. He was screaming behind the duct tape over his mouth, tears pouring from his distressed eyes. To quiet him, Travis delivered a few powerful blows to his head with a clenched fist. Tom went silent, save for a quivering whimper every now and then, the impact having made him slightly dazed. His vision was blurry for a minute or so, and when it cleared, he looked at his friend with intense grief clouding the brown eyes that Doug remembered as being full of life.

"That wasn't ten minutes," Doug protested adamantly.

"You want to be with him longer?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then here." Danny shoved Hanson to lie on the ground and said smoothly, "We'll let you have a free fuck. That's how much longer you can be with him. You want more time? Then I suggest fucking him slow."

Doug glanced from Hanson's motionless form to Danny's shrouded face. "I can't do it," he voiced sadly.

"I don't care if you _can't_ because you _will_. I quite like the idea of watching you give it to him hard, so go ahead and start fucking this whore."

"I won't."

The teen pulled a gun out from where it had been tucked behind his belt at his side. He pointed it at Doug and informed him, "If you don't, I'll kill you, but not before I make you watch him be shot to death very slowly."

Penhall gazed at his partner apprehensively, feeling thoroughly ill at knowing he really had no choice. Had Tom heard the exchange at all? Did he understand what Doug had to do?

As the older cop crawled toward him, Tom turned his head to see him advancing and exhaled a shaky breath. He blinked a couple of times, releasing a number of tears to creep down the side of his face. There was no mistaking the guilt already present in Penhall's eyes; Tom expelled a chocked sob from realizing that Doug was going through with having him without his consent.

In an effort to prevent the inevitable, Hanson attempted to push Doug away as the larger man moved atop him. He shook his head, crying uncontrollably as he weakly attempted to shove the other cop off of him. With desperate, beseeching eyes, he gazed up at Penhall, and emitted sounds of protest while refusing to lie still. Penhall tried to block the fragile hands hitting him, being careful not to aggravate the injured left one.

"Tom, shhh….It's me. It's me; I won't hurt you," Doug murmured soothingly. "I promise. You have to trust me."

Hanson closed his eyes, shaking his head more quickly than before.

"Hey, come on, Tommy….Just think of what it was like when we did it for the first time. There's no one else here; it's just you and me here outside under the stars, okay? I love you, Tom. I'm so sorry for this, but I swear to god I won't hurt you. Please trust me."

It was evident that Tom was giving up and had been conquered when he let his arms drop to his sides and became motionless. The only movement he made was due to his unrelenting sobs that racked his whole body and made him shudder. He posed no hindrance to Doug as the other man pulled his boxers off of him. A whimper filled with humiliation came from him when fingers glided over his hip and the inside of his thigh. It was hard to remind himself that it was no one but Doug who was caressing him, that Doug would never want or mean to cause him any sort of mortification.

"Do you have protection I can use?" he heard Penhall ask in a quaking voice.

"I think you'll be fine bare-backing him."

"What about-"

"Lube? Here you go."

Doug caught the small, plastic bottle, took one last apologetic look at Hanson, and unbuttoned his jeans to pull them lower, along with his boxers. He filled his palm with the slick liquid, being sure that he had plenty in order to make it easier on both of them and lessen whatever pain Hanson would endure upon him penetrating the younger man. Reluctantly, he coated himself with it and settled between the slim legs that were wrapping themselves around his back. Tom opened his eyes, though refused to make contact with Doug's. He stared off to the right vacantly, seemingly trying to detach himself mentally from the predicament. Doug saw this, and gingerly, he brushed away the few strands of hair that were obscuring Tom's left eye.

"Can you look at me, Tom?" he questioned kindly. "Please? It's just you and me, remember?"

The fact that Tom showed no signs of comprehending other than blinking slowly made Doug hate himself. His friend could not bear to meet his gaze because of what he was about to do, making him believe Tom despised and loathed him; if by some miracle Tom was found before the execution date, Doug knew there would be absolutely nothing between them after this – not even a friendship, nor civil interaction.

"I love you, and I'm so sorry, Tom."

There was no reply, not even a tiny movement from Tom. Wanting nothing more than to get it over with, Penhall began to ease his semi-erect cock into the other male's body. He paused from feeling his partner tense up and hearing him emit a quivering whine.

"It's okay. Relax, alright?" Doug comforted gently. "Just like the first time." He smiled when he felt the clenched muscles give way after a moment. "That's it. Just keep calm. It's only me. I won't hurt you."

Hanson sighed and at last turned his head to stare into the other officer's soft, benevolent eyes.

"Hey, baby," Doug breathed almost inaudibly.

The sight below him made his heart flutter; there was a change in Hanson's gaze that disclosed his gradually building trust for the man above him. It suddenly vanished, however, when a bright flash shown from the left. He glanced over to where it had come from, Penhall doing the same, and started trembling with anxiety and disgrace. His dilated pupils darted back to Penhall to look at him fearfully as if Doug had betrayed him. Hurriedly, Doug placed a hand to Hanson's left cheek and let his other comb through the young cop's dark hair.

"It's okay, it's okay," he assured quickly. "Forget it's even there. Forget they're even here. You and me, remember? Trust me, Tommy. We'll get through this. Don't pay attention to them taking pictures. Don't let it get to you. You're alright." Timidly, he bent down and put his lips to Hanson's forehead to bestow a chaste, affectionate kiss. "Let me make love to you, Tom," he whispered into his partner's ear.

The words caused Hanson to burst into another set of tears. He laced his arms around Doug's neck to keep him close enough to where the older male was slightly pressed against his chest. Judging by the mild reaction, Penhall took it as permission to continue, and he thrust upward gently, gaining a deep moan from his friend.

"Alright?"

Tom nodded before rubbing his face against Penhall's neck in a loving manner.

As he withdrew from the smaller man's body, Doug murmured quietly, "You're beautiful, you know that, Tommy?" He re-entered him, uttering more kind words and compliments.

Doug set an unhurried pace of rocking his hips back and forth to move in and out of Tom, wanting nothing more than to have Tom enjoy it as much as he could. The faint sounds he drew from Hanson with every movement sent waves of pleasure throughout his entire anatomy, which soon made him become more forceful and faster with each thrust. The perspiration forming on Hanson's skin glittered in the moonlight alongside the tears his eyes incessantly released. Doug glided his tongue over the cop's cheek, erasing the droplets and making Tom shake from the bolt of ecstasy that went through him at the sensation. Observing the effect it had, Penhall kissed his way down to Tom's neck to suckle and nibble on lightly. Tom sighed contently and wound his fingers in Doug's hair.

_Just think of this being like the first time. It's okay that this feels good; something like this is supposed to._

The flash of the camera off to the side grew more frequent as Doug got rougher, and Tom found it increasingly difficult to believe in such thoughts that he attempted to keep running in his mind. It was all just a show, one that was meant for the entertainment of others and to heighten his sense of degradation. Even if Doug did not intend to cause him pain, he felt it happening nonetheless. The snide comments and snickering from the crowd that he had tuned out previously now filled his ears, and the occasional low groan Doug made simply caused him even greater shame.

Listlessly, he withdrew his arms from Penhall and let them fall to the cold ground at his sides. His eyelids flitted shut, knowing that if he were to stare at his partner any longer, he would be sick. Already the repulsion he felt for himself was extreme, and it had only become worse because of what Penhall was doing now; he did not deserve for Doug to touch him in any way or even speak to him. _He_ was the one defiling Doug by letting the older officer make contact with his monstrous and spoiled body.

The whirlwind of self-loathing emotions went unnoticed by Doug, whose propulsions had intensified a great deal. He pounded into Tom's frame overpoweringly, taking Tom's wounded vocals as noises of bliss. It was not until after he spilled his seed inside of Hanson several minutes later that he realized how miserable and distressed the younger male was. It was plainly written in Hanson's dark eyes that shyly gazed at him.

If his gun had been on him at that moment, he would have had no problem with shooting himself; the anguish Hanson conveyed made him wish that he had never acquiesced to what could merely be described as raping the person he loved more than anyone else he had been with.

"Oh my god," he whispered, appalled with himself. "Tom….I-"

He went silent when he felt a quavering hand push him tiredly. The brown orbs were begging him to go away as Tom pressed against his shoulder with all the strength he had. Doug swallowed to loosen his tight throat, nodded, and shifted to the side to re-adjust his clothing. Before he stood up, he dressed Tom with the single garment the younger cop had worn and mumbled another apology.

"Very nice demonstration, gentlemen," Danny said callously. "I'm sure the press would pay big money to get a hold of these photos. Put him back in the trunk. We're out of here."

Three of the teenagers strode to Tom's exhausted form and started pulling him toward the parked vehicle several feet away. The fifty dollars that had been agreed on to free Tom from the handcuffs was collected by the two who remained, and Doug observed them retreat to the black car as well. He winced as he watched them dump Hanson's limp form into the trunk and jumped at the loud clang that sounded when it was shut.

Once they vanished on the darkened streets as they drove away, Doug sat down and cried. An hour went by before he was able to get to his feet and onto his motorcycle. He did not know where he was headed; frankly, it really did not matter to him. Absentmindedly, he found himself parking in front of a familiar building five minutes later. Leisurely, he went inside and traveled up the flight of stairs. He knocked a couple of times, waiting for an answer with his head lowered, depression overwhelming him. A minute later, the door opened, and he lifted his eyes to look at a wearied Dennis Booker. He opened his mouth to speak, though nothing but a stifled sob came from him.

Booker stepped forward, put his arms around the deeply upset man to hug him consolingly, and Doug fell apart all over again.


	4. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to firebunee, tewksgirl, and the new batch of reviewers: Mrs. William P. Moseley, debbiets, and Francoise-du-Mont. Always enjoying reading what you have to say. :D I've been doing well with updates, though they might become less frequent because of school starting soon and my work scheduling me a lot. Just so you know! I'll do my best to keep turning them out in decent time.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

It took Doug a few seconds to ascertain where he was when he opened his eyes the next morning. He had stayed the night at Booker's, passing out on the couch two hours after he had arrived at the other cop's doorstep. There was a small amount of sunlight peeking through the blinds, providing good illumination for the room without even having to turn on a lamp. He detected the sound of shuffling footsteps coming toward him from the hallway, and he sat up just as Dennis came into view.

"Morning," Dennis mumbled as he scratched the back of his head and yawned.

"Definitely not a good one," Penhall replied faintly.

Booker closed the gap between them to sit down next to his guest and asked quietly, "Do you want to talk?"

"I don't know. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Did you get to see him last night?"

The image of Hanson's abused and ashamed face filtered into Penhall's mind, making him bow his head slightly in disgrace. "Yeah, I saw him."

"What'd he say?"

"Nothing. He couldn't talk. Duct tape over his mouth. But he tried to tell me something, and I have no idea what it was. Spelled it out on my back along with the word 'clock.' Wherever he is, there's a school, train tracks, and a clock tower nearby."

"How do you know that?"

"Heard it from Danny Benton. Booker, I did a horrible thing. I did something unforgivable."

"What's that?"

"I should've just let them shoot me, should've let them kill me, but instead I agreed to it and chose to be a fucking coward."

"What did you do?"

"I raped him," Doug whispered shamefully. He missed the stunned look Booker gave him as his eyes filled with tears.

He accepted the fact that he was an emotional wreck, causing him to be not at all embarrassed as he wept for what felt like the hundredth time in a week. Booker rested his hand against Doug's back and began to rub it soothingly, not knowing what to say and knew that that was for the best.

* * *

Tom could not move. His limbs refused to function, but this was not a problem in his mind. As he laid on the shabby couch several feet away from the bed, he resigned to not make any sort of effort to exert himself; it would be a wonderful thing if he could simply stay the way he was for the remainder of his life, which he knew would be coming to an end incredibly soon. Or so he hoped.

It was not just the physical exhaustion he felt that kept him paralyzed. He had settled into a state of deep depression as he kept re-living the horrors of his captivity, the most recent being the night before where he had been ravished by Doug. It had pushed him over the edge, making him lose the last bit of mental stability he had possessed. The event wounded him far worse than any other episodes of maltreatment previous. It was his fault. _All_ of it was his fault. The look of sheer revulsion Doug had had after using him confirmed Tom's beliefs of just how appalling he had become. He should have never touched his partner, never should have hugged him, and never should have let Doug sully that flawless, muscular body he had with his own mutilated one. He had hurt Doug, and that was something he could not forgive himself for or forget.

The jarring sound of the door opening from atop the stairs resulted in Tom crying softly. He could not take anymore, could not endure it any longer. His body had gone to waste, and his mind was far from rational. The feeling of dwelling in a constant nightmare had finally manifested itself in his mind as being reality.

Fearfully, he watched as the five teens trudged toward him, his eyes flickering to the two objects two of them carried before focusing on the masked faces once again.

"Please don't," he begged powerlessly. "Please, please. Go away. Don't hurt me. I'll do anything. Please, no more."

No one acknowledged his desperate pleas. One of the five swiftly drew him up in strong arms to carry him to the bed. There, he was made to stand on his disfigured feet and bent over the side of the mattress. His right hand gripped the sheets when his boxers began sliding down his legs to his swollen ankles. Whatever was being spoken by the five surrounding him registered as nothing but incomprehensible noise to him. All he could hear was his overly loud, thudding heartbeat and his wretched weeping.

A latex gloved finger was the first to be inserted into him. He expelled a shaky moan as it inched farther and farther inside of him. The tip curled and rotated a little just as another digit breached him. His head tilted upward as his back arched, and he let out a hiss as the fingers moved in a scissoring motion. They varied between this movement and a jabbing one, causing him to whimper with each deep prod.

The abuse lasted for a couple of minutes before the fingers were removed, and Tom exhaled a relieved breath, believing it was entirely over with. He quickly realized how foolish he was for the thought the moment something larger forged its way into his body. It made him yell in pain and claw at the mattress. On every thrust upward, he cried out and attempted to get away. Once the neck of the glass bottle had sheathed itself within him, Andrew began a steady pace of withdrawing it and forcing it completely back inside of Hanson.

"Enjoying it, are you, Tommy?" Danny cooed from behind him.

Hanson shook his head and buried his face against the sheets. "Stop. Please. Why are you doing this? Just kill me! Please! Be done with it!"

"That'd be too easy. And too generous considering what you did."

Hanson trembled and wept incessantly as he was sodomized with the lubricated bottle neck. Sweat shined on his naked skin, dripping over his eyes, though he could not find the energy to wipe the beads of perspiration away. He screamed when it was suddenly shoved powerfully inside him like it had not been before. The impact of it made him quake so much that his feet could no longer support him, and he fell to his knees. The new position, however, did not end the violation.

More violently than before, the glass drove in and out of him, blinding him with agony and making him wail constantly from every thrust. For ten minutes, Andrew kept at the brutal propulsions until it was apparent that Tom would pass out any minute. When the item, which was tainted with blood, was finally removed from him for good, Tom collapsed to the ground on his side, spasmodically twitching and whimpering.

"I say we wait and use the other on him tomorrow," Danny suggested apathetically. "I just want to fuck him now and add insult to the injury."

Tom was placed face-down on the bed for the teen to take him from behind. His hips were hoisted up, and he shrieked piteously when Danny penetrated him roughly and without warning.

--

Doug eased himself to lie on the couch, fatigue encasing him from his races to the kitchen sink to vomit. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the tragic cries of his partner sounding from the computer's speakers. It had finally all gotten to be too much. The instant Andrew had pushed the bottle inside of Tom's body was the first trip Doug had to make to the sink. He had returned in time to witness the last half of the molestation, only to return to the kitchen minutes later when Danny had started his assault, and it was this act of abuse that he was listening to now.

The constant despair and mortification etched in Tom's eyes, which had seemed to become permanent, crushed Doug like the hammer that had done just that to Tom's hand. He would never see those brown eyes light up again with humor, kindness, love, _life_. To him, it was one of the worst things that could possibly ever happen. The special times when he had heard Tom truly laugh would never come again. And that smile – that charming, cheerful smile of his – was nowhere and would never return, Doug knew, and it made his eyes wet with tears from envisioning Tom beaming with happiness and grinning. The person he observed on the website was no longer his best friend. There was no trace of the genuine Tom Hanson; the person was nothing but a badly broken man, suffering needlessly at the hands of five ruthless avengers.

_"We're not gonna find him,"_ he had confided to Booker earlier. _"I know we won't. At least, not before he dies. Part of me hopes we don't even find him after he's murdered. I don't know if I can take it, looking at him in a lifeless heap covered with scars and bruises. I'd be tempted to jump into the grave on top of his casket if we find and bury him." He laughed weakly at this before continuing. "You know, I really thought we were gonna come through for him. I thought we'd save him before it got really bad. Now I see how fucking stupid I was. We'll be lucky to find him at all."_

It took him a number of minutes before realizing he was surrounded by silence. He glanced over at the monitor, discovering Tom still sprawled out on his stomach on the bed, yet unconscious. The unresponsive state the younger officer was currently in did not stop the five masked men from passing up the opportunity to hurt him more, even though they typically left once Hanson was out cold. They desecrated his sweat-coated skin with a number of burning cigarettes in various places, including the back of his neck, along his spine, and on his round backside. Doug swallowed down the impending knot in his throat and shifted onto his side, putting his back to the computer.

Though his mind drifted as he went to sleep, Tom did not completely stray from his thoughts. Nowadays, his partner had a knack for entering his dreams, both good and bad – the majority being the latter. It was difficult to take, but he found that he could not complain. It was important to remember Tom Hanson in all the ways he could.

* * *

"How about no snow? I'm not a big fan of the stuff," Ioki answered and set down the paperwork he had been looking at. "It gets too cold already without it."

Booker nodded from where he sat beside Judy and across from the other cop at the table in the middle of the chapel. "It just gets in the way."

"But it's beautiful to look at!" Judy tried to reason with a smile. "And it always makes kids happy."

Doug glanced at the three as he made to walk by them without a word, though Judy's voice stopped him before he could.

"How about you, Doug?" she asked kindly.

"What?" he muttered with a shrug.

"Christmas is in three weeks – what do you want for it this year?"

He had no idea why he suddenly felt so emotional. And he knew his response would most likely ruin the cheerful mood. "It's not really….You guys don't wanna hear," he attempted to add jokingly.

"Come on. What do you want?"

He lowered his gaze to stare at the floor, cleared his throat, and said dejectedly, "My partner."

Just as he had expected, the joyful atmosphere was gone. It was as if they were all taking a moment of silence in honor of Tom, like he had already died.

"It's stupid," he stated after a minute. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"I think having Tom back is at the top of everyone's lists," Booker interjected gently and looked at Doug understandingly.

Doug sniffed and gave a small chuckle. "Yeah. Definitely would be one of the best Christmases I'd ever have."

He was about to walk away when Fuller came and joined the group, holding something in his hand.

"Someone's taunting us again," he said and tossed the envelope onto the table. As Ioki removed the contents, he continued, "The note says they were taken recently and that Tom isn't the only person we know in the photos."

Doug's heart sped up with incredible apprehension. Could they tell it was him? That he was the one on top of Hanson in the pictures?

"It's too dark to see who it is," Harry commented as he glanced at them, handing them off to Booker one by one. "All I can make out is Hanson. Do you think they're just playing with us and _saying_ it's someone we know?"

"I bet it's just one of them," Booker offered, gazing at Doug as he said it. His eyes were silently searching for what he knew had to be true. The nervousness and guilt Penhall conveyed was all he needed. "I wouldn't bother wasting time with their stupid games like this. They're just trying to point our attention to something other than keeping up the search for Hanson to make it so we don't get to him in time."

Doug felt quite relieved from Booker withholding the information that it was in fact someone they knew in the photos: him. But the chagrin he had for what he had done to Tom was multiplied due to seeing the pictures.

The unpleasant feeling of nausea made him quickly leave the group and hurry to the bathroom upstairs to be sick once again because of Tom Hanson.

* * *

As promised, the five returned to discover Tom stretched out in the bathtub, head tilted back against the tiled wall and asleep. The opportunity presented to them was too perfect to pass up. Silently, the knob was turned entirely to the right, releasing the flow of water through the shower head to rain on the sleeping cop. Tom was immediately jolted awake from the freezing liquid, gasping in shock and scrambling to get up and climb over the edge of the tub. Eric and Travis pushed him back and kept preventing him from escaping. The familiar sensation of his lungs tightening, cutting off air and making it tough to breathe encased him, along with a sudden bout of incredible alarm. No matter how rough the hands shoving him back to stay in the tub were, he persistently kept trying to break through their blockade. The attempts tired him quickly, yet he valiantly continued the endeavor.

"L-L-L-Let me g-g-go!" he shouted as firmly as he could. "Let-" His breath hitched in his throat a couple of times before he was able to finish his statement. "-Me go! P-P-Please!"

As if not hearing Tom whatsoever, Danny commented casually, "I have an idea. Why not just do it here instead of dragging him out to the bed? It'll be much more fun for Tommy boy."

His fight to get away from the water was put to an end as Travis and Eric grappled with him until he was lying on his stomach and held in place. The right side of his face was pressed against the bottom of the tub due to a strong hand keeping his head from moving much. Another grip was wound securely about his left wrist, and a few slight twists of it made him shriek in pain and cease his struggling. It was unbelievably hard to breathe now from the combination of the freezing water and the powerful grasp on his wrist.

The soaked pair of boxers clinging to his drenched skin were pulled off of him before he was forced to raise his hips so that they could penetrate him more easily.

It happened without warning, and the scream that came from him was nothing but a strangled, short cry. He shut his eyes, and the tears that fell from them went unseen as they made their way down his already wet face. Another wounded sound ripped itself from his throat from a second push of the object into him. It was larger than the bottle from yesterday, causing him an increased amount of agony. It was turned from side to side, stretching him more, before it was inched any farther inside of him.

Withdraw it a little, thrust it forward with more force – the process was repeated numerous times until the five were satisfied with the long amount that had penetrated him. The handle of the baseball bat within him exceeded the length of the bottle by far, and they pumped it in and out of him quicker and a bit more violently. He gasped for breath only to lose it by groaning miserably.

All at once, he threw up, halting the propulsions for a brief moment. He could feel the sickening liquid sliding against his skin as it was washed away toward the drain, and the repulsion of laying in his vomit made his stomach heave yet again. It slid down along him as he coughed and panted. The episode made him feel a smidge warmer, to which, he was thankful for the nausea. The slight increase in body temperature did not last long, though, for the cold water soon took over completely once more.

As well as the tormenting movement of the bat.

He was too exhausted to do anything anymore: too exhausted to make any sort of noise that was not quiet, too worn out to move even the slightest, and too tired and breathless to sob. With a soft moan every now and then, he surrendered whatever defiance he had had, along with any shred of integrity he had maintained.

_I deserve this. I deserve all of it. This is all I'm good for,_ he thought emptily. _I'm just glad Doug will never know about this; I'll be dead before he can even ask what happened. He wouldn't want me. I wouldn't want me. I deserve this. It's for the best. It's my fault. _

The shower was turned off first, and the removal of the bat from inside him was second. The harsh grip on his head was gone, as was the one around his wrist after giving it one last yank and twist. Even if he wanted to, he could not move. His limbs were too heavy; his body hurt too much; his energy had been squeezed out of him. He remained a motionless heap, lying in the tub, until Derick turned him over and pulled him up to a sitting position.

"Lovely shower, wasn't it?" Danny cooed. "We certainly enjoyed."

Tom was shivering tremendously and could barely form any coherent words. What he finally was able to voice was an extremely quiet, "D-D-Danny, I'm sorry." Not seeing the flash of intense rage that crossed the teen's features, he went on, this time a little louder. "I'm s-s-s-sorry. S-S-S-So s-sorry for k-k-killing your b-b-br-brother. I'm s-sorry, D-Danny."

The violent beating that ensued because of his mess up was by far the worst of any in the past that he had had to survive.

Doug did not stay to watch it. Instead, he was grinning wickedly and practically running out of his apartment.

He at last had a name – the one that he had believed it was all along.


	5. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks once again to all of your kind reviews! Like I said, I love reading them. I am pretty happy I got another chapter finished before school starts, and it's a lengthy one! So enjoy. It ends on a somewhat happy note. :D

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Doug's heart was beating at such an incredibly fast rate, it hurt. Anxiousness, eagerness, and rage were pulsing through him and waited to be unleashed like the relentless fury of a powerful storm. In the dark with nothing but streetlamps and moonlight to illuminate the area about him, his eyes were on high alert and working at their best to watch for the person he was anticipating.

"You okay?" Ioki asked quietly from beside him, averting his gaze from the house for a moment to look at Doug.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Doug answered briskly. In actuality, he was anything but fine. He was completely on edge and ready to go off like a fire-cracker. "Damn it, where is he?"

"Probably still with Hanson, wherever that is."

"I figured they'd be done for the night with him."

"Maybe they decided to go on a little longer this time."

Suddenly, there was someone rounding the corner of the block and making their way along on the sidewalk.

"Look! I think it's him," Doug exclaimed and pointed. The shrubbery they were crouched behind kept them out of view, which proved to be useful when the person kept scanning the area around him.

Ioki brought the binoculars to his eyes and peered through them. "I think you may be right. See for yourself."

Doug took the instrument and held it up to his own wide and frantic eyes. Simply seeing the teen's face almost made him lose it completely. "Yep. That's him," he confirmed, keeping himself composed.

"Got a visual, Coach," Ioki spoke into the walkie-talkie. "Suspect heading toward the house."

Once the teenager started treading up the driveway, all Doug heard of Fuller's reply was "Go."

He was up and on his feet in seconds and running. Ioki was quick to follow. Hearing the rapid footsteps on the pavement made Danny stop to see who it was before sprinting off in the opposite direction of where Doug and Ioki were coming from.  
Doug pushed himself to move faster, closing the gap between him and his prey. The sound of police sirens could be heard not far away, and as the two rounded the corner of the block, flashing red and blue lights atop numerous cop cars were roving toward them.

Doug, however, did not need the backup help to cut off the teen's path. He lunged for Benton, caught him around the waist, and tackled him to the ground. Danny was sprawled out face-down in the cold, dead grass with Penhall sitting on his legs. His arms were gruffly pulled behind him and held in place on his back.

Hurriedly removing his badge from the left pocket of his jeans, Doug smacked Benton on the side of his head with it before holding it in front of him to look at.

"See this?" Penhall shouted and hit him once again with it. "Means I'm gonna bust your ass. You lose. Game's over."

"You think I'm goin' to talk just because you take me into custody? You're sadly mistaken, Penhall. You're partner's gonna die no matter what you do."

Ignoring the comment, Doug retrieved his handcuffs and began putting the teenager's wrists in them. "Danny Benton, you're under arrest for the kidnapping, assault, and rape of Officer Tom Hanson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say _can_ and _will_ be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you…."

* * *

It took all the self-restraint he had to keep himself from attacking the smug teenager with the intent of killing him. Or maybe just seriously injure him. Doug kept his arms folded across his chest to help prevent any sort of burning urge to take action, and he had been advised by Fuller to leave the interrogation to Ioki and not say a word. He stayed away from the table Benton and Ioki were sitting at, keeping near the wall of the small room and staring maliciously at Danny from where he stood.

"You pathetic excuse for cops would still be working with nothing if that faggot had kept his fucking mouth shut," Danny spat venomously. "Because that's the only way you confirmed it was me, wasn't it?"

"Do you understand the severity of the situation you're in?" Ioki asked calmly. "These are some seriously heavy charges against you. You're looking at probably more than twenty years in prison because you _will_ be charged as an adult. Now, if you cooperate with us, we can get you a somewhat lighter sentence."

"What information would I have to give up?"

"The location where you're holding Officer Hanson hostage. You give a little, I'll give a little."

"I don't think so. Besides, he's really enjoying his stay in that basement; he can't wait to spread his legs for whoever comes down there."

The thin string of patience snapped, and Doug was diving across the table before anyone knew what was happening. The chair Danny was sitting in toppled backward, and he landed on the tiled floor with the sturdy officer straddling his waist. Large, strong hands went about his neck, choking him. Fuller burst into the room with a few other men, and with the help of Ioki, they were able to pry Doug off of the young man and escort him out the door.

Needless to say, he was not permitted back in to observe the rest of the questioning first-hand.

* * *

Time was running out. There were two days left; tomorrow, Hanson would be killed. Danny was not divulging even the tiniest amount of information, much to the dismay of everyone at Jump Street. Having everything right in front of them caused Doug to almost crumble under the stress that had been building for the past two weeks. He dragged himself to work, but did not necessarily get anything done.

Aimlessly, he drew different things on a piece of paper and blocked out all the noise around him. His head rested on his arm, which was perched near the edge of his desk. He did not realize that he was re-writing the figures Tom had outlined on his back until he was done with the second character. Curiously, he lifted his head and stared blankly at the paper, not surprised when he still could not discern what it was.

"What were you trying to tell me, Tommy?" he whispered to himself. "I don't see it."

When Judy began walking past him, he stopped her and handed her the piece of paper.

"What do you think that is?" he inquired indifferently.

She gazed at it, turning it to look at it from various angles. "Am I supposed to know?"

"No. Maybe." He sighed and shook his head. "What if I told you it was really important that we decipher it?"

"Why's that?"

"Because….Tom wrote it on my back," he stated softly.

Judy eyed him carefully. "What are you talking about, Doug?"

"Listen, I….They let me see him a few nights ago for six hundred bucks-"

"_What?!"_

"Shhh!" he quickly hushed her. "Keep it down. I don't want anyone knowing. I'll explain later. But Tom – his fingers made those on me, but I couldn't figure it out."

She frowned and inspected the pencil markings again. "It doesn't look like letters to me. Maybe two backwards 'b's and one strange looking 'e'. Or…." After a brief moment, she gasped and her eyes widened.

"What is it?"

"Look! I was right. It's not letters; it's _numbers_. Since it would've been backwards from your point of view, we have to flip it around….Six, six, three."

"What is that? A house number or something?" he asked anxiously.

"Could be. Nothing else comes to mind."

"Then we have to find the house with that number. Plus, it has to be by all the destinations we know are around it."

The faded hope he had lost long ago returned once again, more powerful than before.

* * *

Tom did not know why, but the absence of Danny made him wholly unsettled. Perhaps it was because the four left seemed more menacing without him. And they acted like it. The bathtub had been filled with the hottest water, and they had lowered him into it without mentioning whether it would be freezing or scorching. He had expected it to be the former, and was terribly shocked when he found it to be the other extreme.

Eric and Andrew kept him completely submerged beneath the water's surface by pushing the end of the baseball bat onto his stomach and the plunger on his legs. The instruments held him in place for one minute and then were set aside in order to lift him out of the water. He only had ten seconds to catch his breath and take another deep one before they immersed him in the scalding liquid again. After four rounds with the searing water, a ten minute long cold shower followed. The treatment switched between the two extreme torments for approximately an hour before he was taken to the bed and sodomized with the plunger's handle, which was drenched with hot water.

They at last let him alone when midnight came, leaving merely thirteen hours for him to live.

* * *

The location they had gone to was not the correct one. The mistake made Doug feel ill, and he had to step away from the group of cops to vomit in the grass. He checked his watch and had the overwhelming urge to break into tears. There was less than two hours before all of their efforts proved in vain and useless.

_This can't be happening. Everything we need is right in front of us; we_ _can't let them win. We can't let him down now that we're so close. _

Once they were back at the chapel, he started mapping out and looking up other possible places that fit the description. His frantic demeanor compromised his concentration several times, causing him to get up from his desk and take a short walk around the room to clear his head whenever it did.

The time he had been obsessed over slipped by without him noticing due to his mind being utterly consumed with his search efforts. Everything fell silent the instant the alarm went off, and Doug swallowed hard.

"Oh no," he whispered sorrowfully. "God, no."

Fretfully, he brought the website up on his computer and blinked rapidly to clear his vision from the impending tears.

--

Nothing had to be said; Tom knew why they were there this time. Something was unusual, and he had no doubts as to what it was. It was more of a feeling than anything.

He would not see them again after this round. They were here to wrap up their snuff film by taking it to the most extreme level yet in order to snatch away his life.

Immense joy erupted within him, and he could not help but give a tiny smile as they treaded to him. He had prepared himself for this moment, murmured his goodbyes to those he cared for the previous night, and surrendered everything he had. There would be no fight. No pleas for forgiveness or mercy. He was ready for the eternal peace that was waiting for him.

And then his blissful mindset faltered.

Doug.

It felt like a dagger sheathing itself in his heart from the myriad of memories that danced through his head of him and the older cop. He would never see his partner again; never laugh at the man's somewhat childish antics; never get the chance to share his bed and fall asleep in Doug's protective embrace, knowing that everything was as it should be because Doug was there. His expression morphed to one of incredible regret as he suddenly worried about how his partner would deal with his absence. He had never wanted to hurt Doug in any way, but he knew it was inevitable now; even if he did put up a great struggle, he was not going to change his fate and get out alive.

"You ready to die, Tommy?" Derick asked unsympathetically.

_I'm sorry, Doug, but I can't take any more. I'm sorry I can't even try._ With a slow nod, Tom answered exceptionally quietly, "Yes. I'm ready to die."

They pulled him by his left wrist to the center of the area, released him, and began their task. The first bout of hits came from clenched fists and boot-clad feet. His bottom lip split open and bled, along with his nose and various contusions on his head. He only began to scream when they twisted his ankles a number of times and struck his broken feet with the baseball bat they had grown accustomed to.

The sledgehammer Danny had used to cripple the two appendages made another appearance. Tom's watery, half-way opened eyes watched as Travis drew it back and brought it down on his right knee. A loud cry of sheer agony ripped itself from his throat. No crawling away now even if he wanted to, he thought. The knife Andrew utilized to create numerous gashes on his calves and arms hardly registered, though he felt the sharp pain the instant the blade sunk into his left thigh. Red liquid oozed from the wound and trailed down to paint the already blood-smeared cement ground.

They tossed him around like a dog's chew-toy, punching, smashing, punishing. His face was gruesomely battered and bruised, swollen, and bleeding; tear drops mixed with the crimson jewels leaking from his injuries. He gasped frenziedly for air, feeling as if someone was squeezing his lungs and pounding on his chest. The raspy breaths sounded like he was a fish washed up on the shore. No matter how hard he tried to breathe normally, he could merely lay panting shallowly.

Unable to move himself, Eric lifted him up to sit to bring the lengthy beating to a close, and he slumped forward exhaustedly. He caught sight of the bat being twirled around in Derick's hand, and his cracked and busted lips turned upward into a smile. A hoarse laugh sounded from his dry throat as the weapon moved closer.

This was it. At last, it would be over.

The bat made extraordinarily strong contact with his forehead, and Tom Hanson collapsed onto his back in a pool of his own blood, eyes closed, and did not move or utter another noise again.

--

Nobody said anything. Nobody made the slightest movement.

Doug stared, eyes dilated with horror and anger, at the screen with his mouth opened in astonishment and tears streaming down his cheeks.

"No," he spoke in an extremely soft voice. "No. No!" he shouted madly. "No!"

He bolted up from his chair, grabbed the computer's keyboard, and hurled it at the wall on the opposite side of the room. His hands moved to throw the monitor after it, but he was stopped by Ioki and Booker taking hold of him and easing him to the floor. Heartbreaking yells continued to pour from his mouth as the two men attempted to sedate him. Judy rushed to him and knelt at his side to aid in the effort. She extended her arms out to him, and he fell into her embrace like a helpless infant. He grabbed onto the sleeve of her sweater and balled the fabric up in his fist. His entire body was shaking from the fierce sobs he emitted.

Tom was dead, murdered right before his eyes. The promise he had made to the younger man was broken and unfulfilled. He felt as if everything had been torn apart; everything was crashing down. That was it – they had lost. They had failed Tom in the worst way possible by not saving him as they had sworn to do.

Tom was dead, and Doug could blame no one but himself for it.

* * *

The image was black where the video feed had been showing. All the cameras had turned off, yet the site still existed. Photos remained posted that showcased what Tom had gone through in case anyone had missed the live coverage of his captivity. Comments could still be made, most of them containing harsh words about Tom or praises for his death. The countdown clock read nothing but zeros, and the visitor tally almost exceeded three million hits. The webpage had stayed on Doug's monitor after the execution, and he periodically glanced at it as if expecting a camera would turn back on and reveal that it was all just a joke and Tom was not, in fact, gone. No such thing happened.

He wandered around the chapel aimlessly as if in a daze, not speaking to anyone and detesting the looks of pity he was constantly being showered with. None of them could understand or even contemplate how awful he felt, and he could not tell them why it wounded him so viciously; he did not have it in him to admit that he loved his partner dearly and had desired to have something much more than just a friendship with the younger man.

From where he was sitting at the table in the middle of the area, he observed Danny Benton's parents being led by Booker to the single locked cell in the room where their son had been confined to. He heard their annoyed demands as to why Danny had been arrested and then ignored whatever explanation Booker gave them. There were the familiar threats of bringing their lawyer into the situation and having their son refuse to answer any questions until said lawyer was present. Booker did not look impressed, nor rattled by their angry voices. He allotted them five minutes to converse with their son before he began escorting them out. Doug stood, bringing their attention on him, and they abruptly started toward him. As he watched their advance, he vowed to keep silent until whatever they had to say to him was said.

"This is your partner's fault," Mrs. Benton spat. "He brought it upon himself the moment he shot and killed my oldest son."

Penhall suddenly did not feel so bad about breaking his promise of staying quiet early as he replied evenly, "I'm sorry, but I don't think anyone brings the sorts of things they did to Tom on by themselves. Have you seen what they've done? Because three million other people have."

"What are you talking about?"

"They filmed him every second of every day and broadcasted it on their own little website. My partner….Your son led all of the attacks. They tortured him consecutively for two weeks – beat him, raped him, burned him, violated every part of him – and yet you still side with your son, no matter what appalling shit he's done. If you wanted Officer Hanson to pay for what he did to your family, then Merry Christmas; he has. They broke him and killed him."

The stunned expressions and feeble attempts to cut him off did not phase Doug whatsoever, and he continued on spilling everything he was feeling to them.

"Look, I know the pain you're in now from losing someone you care about. And I know how badly Tom felt for shooting your son because he lost his father to a gunshot wound. But you have to see how wrong Danny was to go after him, how wrong it was to brutalize him until his death.

He won't tell us what they'll do to his body, or what they _have_ done. Maybe he'll confess to you, so I'm begging you – please try to find out where they may have abandoned him or what the street name is that the house is on. I want him to have a proper burial and all that; he deserves to have at least that. You'd be….doing a Christmas miracle. Please. It's...all I ask for."

A few minutes later, the exact address of the house was revealed, along with another important location. Tom Hanson would not be discovered in the basement where he had been kept; he had been transported to a vacant area several miles outside of the city.

* * *

The snow had begun as nothing but a drizzle, but now, large flakes were coming down heavily. Everyone was bundled up in winter coats, scarves, and gloves to keep warm as the search commenced in the extremely early hours of the morning. Half a dozen cop vehicles were parked at the edge of the field near the deserted road, shining their blue and red lights that illuminated only a little of the vast expanse of land. Flashlights danced around in the dark night as people trudged across the dry ground, which was rapidly being blanketed by snow. Dogs ran by, sniffing diligently for a scent, and their trainers trailed behind them.

Doug's heart was racing from the adrenaline coursing through him. He detoured from the grove of trees he had meandered to back into the open field, his eyes scouring the ground for any sign of his partner.

A set of train tracks cut across the area, and he followed a couple of other search-party members over them to the second half of the field. He was shivering uncontrollably, feeling slightly numb, but pushed himself to ignore the sensations and focus on the pending task.

"Please, God," he whispered, seeing his breath filter out of his mouth due to the chilly air. "Please let us find him. Just so he can be put to rest like he should be, not left out here alone to rot."

It was only one dog barking at first; a second joined it seconds later. Something had been discovered. It was confirmed the instant he heard someone yell, "Over here!"

Doug bounded for the source of the voice, The dogs and a small group of cops standing nearby came into view a number of yards away from where Doug had initially been. Not far from the tracks, they had gathered around a dark shape on the ground. Doug pushed them aside, knelt beside the covered figure, and felt as if he would explode from the intense anxiety he had. It was a maroon colored sleeping bag, and there was absolutely something in it. Hurriedly, he tore off his gloves and reached for the zipper. He undid it almost halfway and ceased to breathe. The image he had been dreading to see was finally in front of him.

Tom Hanson's body was contorted into a painful-looking position, his eyes were shut, and his violet lips were pressed together. His skin was unbelievably pale, making the bruises that seemed to be everywhere on him stand out vividly like a nasty stain. He wore no clothes, and his flesh felt like an icicle.

"Oh god, Tommy," Doug choked out. "I'm so sorry."

The younger cop's hair was wet with blood from the gaping wound on his head. His thigh was coated with the substance as well. Doug averted his gaze for a brief period, trying to gain control of himself. When he settled his eyes on Tom's lifeless frame once more, he frowned. Gently, he placed his hand on Tom's chest and immediately felt his heart speed up to an ungodly rate again.

Tom was not lifeless at all; he was _alive_, if just barely.

"We need an ambulance! He's alive!" he shouted before sliding his arms underneath Hanson's limp body and got to his feet. He darted over the tracks and quickly made his way to the parked police cars. An ambulance had been brought along with the purpose of transporting the deceased man back to the city, but the EMS crew now worked to prepare it for carrying a critically injured patient.

Doug laid his partner on the stretcher, watched them strap him down to it, and helped them lift him into the back of the vehicle to place him on a gurney. Wasting no time, they were inserting needles into his skin for IV's and shoving a tube down his throat to intubate him. An oxygen bag was hooked to the end of the tube poking out of his mouth and squeezed every three seconds to help him breathe.

The doors were shut, and Doug could not see anymore. The ambulance started to move and was soon rushing toward the hospital with sirens wailing.

"Doug! Come on!"

He whirled on his heels to catch Booker motioning for him to get in his car.

Shortly after the ambulance's departure, Booker's vehicle was chasing it with the gas pedal floored.


	6. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed! You all are so kind to me and I'm happy that you're all enjoying it. This one is a lengthy chapter, so don't be surprised if the next chapter takes awhile. :)

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

The sight of blood was something Doug had never been queasy over. He had seen his fair share of gruesome injuries during his years as a cop and was hardly bothered by seeing them.

It was quite different when it was his partner who was drenched in blood.

Doug stood outside of the emergency room with Booker at his side and observed the numerous doctors working to save Tom. His job was finished; it was out of his hands now whether Tom lived or not. His knees almost buckled under him as Hanson was cut open. An incision was made at the upper left part of Hanson's chest and a plastic tube was inserted into it. The same was done to the right side. Bags of red liquid were being rushed to him to pump the donated substance into his body through an IV due to his excessive amount of blood loss. There were other bags filled with warm saline that flowed into him through more IV's to help treat the severe hypothermia he was suffering from.

Tom's heart stopped beating twice, and Doug almost burst through the swinging doors when it happened to yell at the doctors and nurses to save him, to do anything to help him, but Booker always held him back. He could not breathe when his partner's body jerked from the shock of the defibrillator. It took three tries each time to get Tom's heart functioning again.

"Hey, Doug."

Doug turned his head, looking somewhat bewildered to find Booker still next to him.

"Let's go sit down. They'll take care of him. Come on. You could use a break."

"No, I….I wanna stay here with him," he replied faintly.

Despite his answer, Doug did not protest when Booker took a hold of his arm and led him away to the waiting room. The last thing that registered in Doug's mind was the thin, straight line displayed on one of the monitors Hanson was hooked up to – which signaled for more shocks to be given to his heart – before he passed out.

* * *

Slowly, Doug opened his eyes and scanned the space about him. It was a small hospital room, and he realized then that he was lying on a bed. He moved to sit up, though thought better of it when his head began throbbing.

"Hey Doug," Judy voiced softly and gazed at him with concern. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, kind of. I don't know what happened."

"You went out like a light," Booker said, sounding a bit amused, but also worried like Judy.

"How long was I out for?"

"Almost ten minutes."

"How's Tom?"

Judy and Booker exchanged gloomy looks, and Doug wondered why he even bothered asking when he was already sure of the answer.

"They took him up to surgery about five minutes ago," Judy answered carefully. "They're going to try and repair his knee, see what they can do for his feet and hand, and do some other things. It just….It doesn't look good for him. They don't even think he'll make it to tomorrow night."

"Tom's a fighter," Doug stated confidently. "He'll pull out of it; he'll make it."

"Doug-"

"He'll make it," he replied more firmly.

"Even if he does, there's a chance he'll have some serious brain damage because of the heavy trauma to his head. He may not ever wake up or-"

"You think he'll end up a vegetable."

Judy sighed and shrugged, defeated. "I don't know. It's a possibility. If not completely incapacitated, then he could still end up being mentally handicapped-"

"Or maybe he won't. Maybe he'll just be as capable as he ever was. I'm not giving up on him."

"Doug, they warned us to not get our hopes up-"

"I'm _not_ giving up on him."

The headache he had was gone, yet Doug moved cautiously as he got to his feet. Without another word to add to the argument, he went out the door and wandered about until he took a seat in the waiting room located on the surgical floor.

* * *

It was three hours before Tom was at last taken to a regular room with two beds, though the one farthest from the door was vacant. He had not opened his eyes after the surgery or when numerous tests had been performed on him. The tube remained in his throat in order to put him on a ventilator to breathe. A white, gauze bandage was wrapped around the top part of his head to cover the stitched wounds. Under his hospital gown, two other bandages were wound about his torso and the stab wound to his thigh that had been sutured. His knee, wrist, and feet were secured in braces to prevent them from moving and to keep them straight. There were a few pins sticking out from the one on his wrist, and Doug squirmed uncomfortably from the sight of them. The blood, grime, and what appeared to Doug like traces of dried semen had not been washed off of his face or any other part of his body. Numerous IV bags were hanging near him, and each of their thin tubes led to a different needle buried in his skin along his arms.

The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the clicking-hissing noise of the respirator.

"He looks so frail," Doug said intensely quietly as he meticulously surveyed his partner. "Like, if I touch him, he'll break."

"He looks so peaceful too," Judy commented and ran a delicate finger over Tom's right hand. Ioki placed his arm across her shoulders and hugged her consolingly.

"We did what we could, guys," Fuller stated. "It's out of our hands now. We can only hope for the best."

The last sentence made Doug's eyes sting with tears. "Maybe him _dying_ is for the best," he whispered mournfully. "Now that I see him like this….I can't….I just don't want him to be in pain anymore, you know?"

Judy, Booker, Ioki, and Fuller stayed for two more hours before leaving. Doug stayed behind and dragged the chair from the corner of the room to Hanson's bedside. Gently, he entwined his fingers with the ones of Hanson's right hand, lifted them to his lips, and kissed the cold skin tenderly as he began to weep.

"I'm so sorry, Tommy," he forced out, tears trickling down his cheeks. "It's my fault. All of this is. Please forgive me. God, I'm sorry. Sorry for everything I've done. I hate that I let them hurt you. I hate that I didn't find you in time. And I hate that _I_ hurt you. I guess….maybe….you shouldn't forgive me. I don't deserve it. But god, I'll still love you if you do or you don't. You're my partner, my best friend; I love you more than anything or anyone in this world. And….if you have to let go, it's okay. You've suffered enough. I'll understand. I just don't want you to be in any more pain, Tommy." He swallowed to loosen his constricted throat and emitted a stifled sob. "I'm so sorry."

He bowed his head and tightened his grasp on Hanson's hand as he succumbed to his fierce sobbing. An hour later, he closed his wet eyes, rested his head beside Hanson on the bed, and let himself finally drift to sleep.

* * *

Five hours later, Doug awoke to the noise of mild commotion outside the hospital room's door. He raised his head, rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, and gazed sleepily at Tom. There was no difference in appearance since Doug fell asleep; he knew Tom had not woken at all during the night.

"Morning, Tommy," he whispered with a slight smile.

The banter beyond the door grew louder for a moment before the entrance opened. Doug turned and was met with bright flashes dancing in front of his eyes. A doctor and two police men shut the door quickly behind them, and Doug was able to hear the mumbled complaints about the "damn news crews," "wanting a story," and "taking pictures." The last grievance stimulated the memory of Hanson lying underneath him on the cold ground, crying helplessly and pleading for Doug not to take advantage of him, and the flicker of a camera's flash every few seconds beside him. A pang of tremendous guilt and remorse settled on to him; he had to swallow and blink several times to prevent himself from crippling under the grief again.

"You alright, Mr. Penhall?"

Doug shook his head, breaking through his daze, and glanced at the doctor. "Yeah, I'm fine. Wait, how do you know who I am?"

"Captain Fuller told me you'd be around here a lot. I'm Dr. Michael Landen," he added, extending his hand.

"Doug Penhall, but I guess you already knew that," the tired officer replied and shook the doctor's hand.

"Tom was your partner, correct?"

"Yeah. He's….He and I have been teamed up together for a couple of years now."

"So you two were close?"

"Why are you making it sound like he's already dead?"

"It wasn't my intent; I'm sorry. You two _are_ close?"

Doug nodded absently. "We're close," he answered quietly, remembering how amazing Hanson's trembling body felt beneath him for the first time.

"Did he ever mention to you what he would want if he were to ever become like this?"

"Like, if he wanted to live or die?"

"Yes. We haven't been able to get a hold of his mother yet, and I thought maybe you would have an idea. He doesn't have any indication of wishing to be an organ donor, and he doesn't have a 'do not resuscitate' form on file. Now, it would ultimately be Ms. Hanson's decision on whether or not to take him off of life support, but I'm curious to know if he's ever talked about this sort of thing with you."

"We've talked about it, sure," he sighed wearily. "I mean, there's always a risk of ending up in this sort of position when you're a cop, you know? We didn't talk in depth about it or anything. I couldn't tell you what, exactly, he'd want, but….Tom's a proud, strong guy; I don't think he'd want to be like this or seen like this."

"I understand. Hopefully, it won't come to that decision. He could either wake up sooner than we thought or-"

"Not make it to tomorrow."

Landen nodded solemnly. "Yes. There is that possibility too."

The two cops who had entered with the physician stepped to the opposite side of the bed from where Doug was, and one of them pulled back the sheets covering Tom from the waist down and settled them in front of his now exposed feet. The other held a camera and was already taking a full-length shot of Hanson before Doug even had a chance to make a questioning comment.

"What are you doing?" he asked defensively. The need to protect his partner rapidly overwhelmed him.

"Pictures for the case file," the one without the camera answered simply as another flash went off. "We need to take photos to show the extent of his injuries."

Though he highly disliked this fact, Penhall did not argue; he knew it was merely procedure. However, when they carefully rolled Hanson onto his left side to unlace the back of his gown, Penhall grabbed a handful of the fabric to keep it closed and could feel his face getting hot from rising anger.

"You don't need to take this off of him," he stated in an almost threatening tone.

"I'm afraid we do. We need to document all the damage, down to the very last bruise."

"Come on. Please. Give him a break. Can't he just be allowed to keep his clothes on for once?"

"Not right now, he can't. You're a policeman; you know how this works. If he only had a few bruises on his legs and arms, then it wouldn't have to come off, but I understand that he has many more on the areas covered by the gown that we need to photograph."

With great reluctance, Penhall released his grasp and observed the laces being untied with apologetic eyes. The garment was completely removed, and Doug had to cover his mouth to prevent himself from making any sort of distraught noise. Everything was so much clearer now that there was light to illuminate the room compared to the dark of night when Hanson was discovered. There was hardly a place on the young man's body that was not discolored by a bruise, circular burn, or cut. He knew the harrowing stories behind the majority of the disfigurements, stories he wished to forget. They were vivid in his mind as if he had just seen it all happen – everything from Hanson's fall down the stairs to hit the hard cement floor, to the grotesque way his feet lolled limply beside the block of wood, the occasional instances when they would dislodge his fingers only to re-correct them shortly after to add to the pain, the frequent times they would use him as an ashtray for lit cigarettes, the kicks to his chest that fractured and broke ribs, the bloody mess of his wrist and hand caused by the heavy hammer, the handcuffs, the baseball bat, the plunger, the knife….

"Make sure you get this region," the officer muttered to the man holding the camera and motioned at the area from below Hanson's waist to almost his knees. "I see a couple of cigarette burns on the penis and left testicle."

_Click. Flash._

"Bruises here on the inside of his thighs; looks like they gripped hard when they spread his legs."

_Click. Flash._

"Hey doc, is there any evidence like semen on his backside to indicate he was raped?"

At that word, the other cop mumbled something with a little smirk, not expecting anyone to have heard. Doug, however, did and could feel the familiar fury building inside of him.

"What did you say?" he whispered, eyes blazing with rage.

"Nothing," the officer replied.

"Yes you did. Don't you _ever_ call my partner that name again, and don't you _ever_ think negatively about him or think that you're better than him because of what they did," he said in a surprisingly even, yet threatening tone. "Yes, he was raped by five men, but don't you _ever_ say that word again or think that he deserved it or enjoyed it. For god's sakes, look at him! They exploited his body for their own purpose and pleasure and then threw him away like he was a piece of trash! And here you are, treating him like that piece of trash, and he can't even defend himself! So I'm here to do it for him. If I hear you say something like that again or hear it from someone else that you did, I swear to god, I'll lay you out with a brick and put _you_ in the hospital. You got me?"

The officer was glaring at him, obviously seething a bit, but nodded. "Yeah, I got you."

"Doug," Dr. Landen cut in, "Maybe you should wait outside while they finish this. I think they'd be able to get done faster if you did."

Everything in him wanted to stay at Tom's side, but he knew that if he did, he would probably end up following through on his threat. He said nothing as he went out the door, hearing the doctor mention that there "was a little bit of anal tearing, but as far as visible trauma to indicate sexual assault, there isn't much. A couple of bruises and four cigarette burns on the buttocks are pretty much all there is. There isn't any semen present that would serve as a good sample to identify any of the five males."

When he stepped outside into the hallway, reporters started bombarding him with questions. He pushed his way through, not responding to any of them, and searched for the restroom. He found it relatively easily and ducked inside. From the stillness of the space, he knew he was alone. All at once, his emotions exploded within him. He kicked two of the stall doors with great force and struck the wall with his fist before sinking to the floor.

For ten minutes, he wept in peace before someone entered. He hurriedly gained control of himself and remained where he was to stare vacantly ahead of him, alone, for an additional fifteen minutes.

* * *

When Doug returned to his partner's room, he found that Tom was not alone. It was not the two cops or the doctor keeping him company. Margaret Hanson was seated at her son's bedside in the chair Doug had placed near him. She turned her head to see who had entered behind her, and Doug could easily see that she had been crying. Her grief-stricken, mournful expression sent a new wave of remorse shooting through his anatomy.

"I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone," he said softly.

She waved a hand at him to come to her. "No, it's fine. You're alright. I'm sure he'd like it if you were here.

_Not if he remembers what I did to him_, he thought grimly.

"Where did you find him?"

"They left him wrapped in a sleeping bag in an open field several minutes outside of town." He did not think it necessary to tell her that he was found naked and practically dead.

She held her son's unharmed hand between both of hers and gazed lovingly at his battered face. "He hates hospitals," she explained with a little smile. "Just like his father that way. The reporters….they'd keep coming back to ask me more questions, trying to get me to say something bad about my baby boy."

"I'm truly sorry for all of this."

"I couldn't bring myself to visit that sick website more than a few times. What I saw was enough…." She inhaled a shaky breath and let it out slowly. "What did they do to him besides ruining his ankles and hand?"

"Well, um….they'd force him to take freezing cold and scorching hot showers." He paused, not feeling really comfortable with supplying her with the images of Tom's torture, but her piercing, anxious, pleading stare made him go on. "They didn't feed him very much, as you can probably tell. Those burns are from cigarettes and….they shattered his knee with the sledgehammer. They constantly beat him and….sodomized and raped him," he concluded in a hushed tone. The words felt vile on his tongue and made his stomach churn.

They had a similar effect on Margaret Hanson. She bowed her head and broke into tears, letting go of Tom's hand as if his palm had suddenly given her a shock. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Does that mean he's….Does that make him…."

"Gay?"

"Yes. God forgive him if he is."

"Ms. Hanson, it has nothing to do with his sexuality. Being raped by someone who happens to be of the same gender doesn't make a person gay. They did it because it gave them power over him. They did it to humiliate him and degrade him. They craved complete control over him, and that's how they got it: they forced him to have sex with each of them."

Observing her reluctance to look at her son again and touch him, he went ahead and caressed Tom's hair in hopes that she would take Tom's hand in hers from witnessing his unafraid gesture. Nevertheless, she made no move to entwine her fingers with her son's.

"He didn't want to," he stated plainly. "He didn't want them to violate him."

"I know," she replied distantly.

"Then why don't you-"

"He's surpassed their expectations, yet they still don't think he'll make it much longer," she interrupted quietly. "If he wakes, they expect him to suffer from memory loss, fainting spells, migraines, and forgetfulness at the least. He won't be able to walk for awhile or use his left hand. The worst would be him being dependent on others to take care of him and having the intelligence of a toddler."

"I see."

"He may even be paralyzed, though maybe not permanently….Part of me wants to let him go; he'd be guaranteed a painless, relatively quick death. The other part is clinging to hope and praying that he'll open his eyes. I never thought I'd have to make the decision on whether or not he should live or die. It's something no parent should have to do…." There was a small pause before she lifted her gaze to meet Doug's and asked softly, "What should I do?"

"It isn't my place to-"

"Just….please tell me what the right thing to do is." Her voice was weak with anguish and begging for a clear answer.

Doug did not have one. "I don't know. I'm sorry. Do what _you_ think is right. You're still his mom and still look after him, but….maybe it _is_ time to release him and let someone else watch over him."

The conversation was done when Ms. Hanson did not respond. He felt it best to exit the room to allow her precious time alone with her only son. He waited just outside the door, and when she stepped out and shut the door gently behind her twenty minutes later, she had made a decision, which she shared with him.

If after one week Tom did not come to, he would be taken off the respirator and have the IV's removed from his veins, permitting him to slip away into eternal sleep.

* * *

"Excuse me, nurse, can you-"

"I'm sorry, but I'm busy at the moment," the woman answered as she jogged passed Doug down the hallway.

"Okay. No problem," he mumbled to himself. Not a minute later, another nurse was walking hurriedly in his direction and conversing rapidly with a doctor. "Can I-" He was not even able to finish before they briskly went by him. "Never mind."

He started wandering about, searching for either a washcloth or towel. After meandering down a different hallway, he spotted a rolling cart with various objects on it, including the two things he wanted. He retrieved one of each and made his way back to Tom's room. It was night, and the news crews had left, to which he was highly grateful for, and he went ahead and kept the door open for a bit of noise and to observe people go by.

Tom was utterly motionless and lifeless as he had been, but Doug was inwardly grateful that he was even still alive. The older cop went into the small bathroom at the far end of the room, wetted the washcloth and part of the towel, and returned to his chair beside his partner's bed.

"Hey Tommy, I'm just gonna try and clean you up," he whispered.

Gently, he touched the smaller cloth to Hanson's right cheek and rubbed it delicately. When he pulled it away, it was tainted with a decent amount of darkened blood and dirt. The newly washed spot still retained discoloration, though it was a definite improvement to Doug. He trailed the cloth down from Hanson's eye to his chin and repeated the action several times until most of the impurities were wiped away. The process was carefully performed on the other side of Tom's face, after which Penhall dabbed the pallid skin with the towel.

"Now I can see you," he said with a smile.

Surveying Tom's body from head to toe, he decided to proceed and bathe the younger man's arms and legs. As he lightly scrubbed the back of Tom's right hand, a sudden spasm made the grimy fingers twitch. Immediately, Penhall stopped and watched intently, holding his breath, for any more movement. Five seconds later, Hanson's fingers noticeably flexed as if trying to grasp the sheets that blanketed him.

"Tom?" Doug spoke in disbelief, his voice quivering slightly. "Tom? Can you hear me?"

There was no reaction at all. Doug swallowed and blinked a few times, his heart sinking when his partner's eyes did not open.

Doug laced his fingers with Hanson's and his other hand stroked the man's countenance affectionately. For the next half hour, he merely stayed that way with his partner, only letting one tear fall from his eye in disappointment.

* * *

It was two o'clock in the morning, and Doug was weaving in and out of sleep. His head would drift downward with his eyes closed before he quickly opened them again and lifted his head. Wearily, he rubbed his face, attempting to wake himself up. He did not want to miss another bout of mobility from Tom.

All at once, he was shaken entirely awake with panic and fear.

The heart monitor's green line went straight across the screen as the beep became one long, continuous sound.

"Oh my god," he whispered almost inaudibly. "Oh my god."

With great speed, he leapt up from his chair and bounded out of the room. There was no one around, making him race down the hallway toward the main area of the floor.

"I need help! Someone! He's dying! I need help!"

A doctor and two nurses ran after him to the room. The doctor grabbed a pair of scissors off of the tray near the second, vacant bed by Tom's and hastily started cutting a path from the collar of Tom's gown down to his waist. He ripped it open as the two nurses dragged the defibrillator cart to him. Doug simply observed from where he stood at the doorway, his eyes brimming with tears at the thought of Hanson finally slipping away. The young man's small frame jolted considerably from the first shock. His body responded with the same sort of jerking motion the following four tries. The fifth earned a steady heartbeat and pulse, filling Penhall with an enormous amount of relief.

After Hanson was clothed in a new hospital gown, Doug remained in the room to stare at his partner, feeling miserable and utterly stressed out. Ten minutes later, he closed the door behind him and began his walk to the hospital's entrance.

* * *

He was not sure how it happened. A few drinks at a populated bar, a gorgeous woman sitting beside him, a question, an answer, and an hour of intimate and intense contact with someone else to top it all off.

Doug lay awake, looking at the ceiling blankly, and was not surprised to find himself feeling guilty. A cheater. Terrible.

He glanced at the sleeping nude woman next to him in his bed and sighed. There was no doubting that she was tremendously pretty and beautiful, but despite her appearance and personality, it was not her that he had been seeing under him as their bodies became one and moved together. She was not the one he had wished was there with him, not the one he had imagined himself making love to, and she was not the one he fantasized about doing more with.

No, that person, _the one_, was clinging to life in the hospital by himself; that person was unattainable.

That person was Tom Hanson.

* * *

Four days went by, and Doug had not once returned to the hospital. Judy, Ioki, Booker, and Fuller had all gotten into a routine of visiting Tom a couple times a day, yet Judy always made a third. She called Doug, usually receiving no answer, and left messages asking why he had stopped coming. He was not even showing up to work. Usually, this would gain him some sort of reprimand, but Fuller was being lenient and letting it go due to the circumstances. She even offered him a ride to the hospital if he needed it, yet he always declined and provided no sort of real answer as to why he would not go.

Eventually, she stopped all together and let him alone to do as he pleased, even if it meant him not being at his partner's side.

* * *

It was eight-thirty in the evening, two days before Hanson was scheduled to be taken off of life support, and Fuller stayed even after Judy and Ioki had left. He had not intended on remaining much longer, but nevertheless, he sat down in "Doug's" chair and made himself comfortable to hang about for another half hour or so.

Suddenly, he saw a flutter of Tom's eyelids. He stood up and looked anxiously at his youngest Jump Street officer.

"Come on, Hanson. Open your eyes."

It took a moment for the words to make sense in Tom's mind; once they did, he struggled and felt the pain it caused to obey the kindly spoken order. The area was so bright, he had to squint in order to look around him before his brown eyes adjusted to the light. It was evident that he was exceptionally worn out, but he willed himself to stay awake. Sleepily, he gazed up at his captain, not really knowing who he was at first. The older man was smiling at him, and when he spoke, Tom at last recognized him.

"It's good to see you, Hanson."

Tom wanted to wave or do something to show he comprehended, but he discovered that he was too weak and it was too painful to move. All he could do was blink.

"The tube down your throat is helping you breathe, so you won't be able to talk. Do you understand? One blink for yes, two for no, alright?"

One.

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

One.

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

There was a pause as Tom attempted to recall any of the events. Finally, he blinked twice.

"You don't remember anything?"

Two.

Fuller sighed and was silent for a moment as he thought about the best way to explain it to him. "Hanson, you were kidnapped three weeks ago by five males and kept in a basement. There, they did a myriad of things that has put you in this condition. They abused you in a number of different ways: physically, mentally, sexually, and emotionally."

Tom closed his eyes, letting the forgotten images play in his mind. They were cloudy at first, but soon grew more comprehensible. He could not remember everything – only certain events that fit Fuller's description. All at once, he could feel one of the males inside of him, recalling how degrading and rough and painful the person on top of him made it. And then the soft crunching of his wrist caused by the hammer….

Clear, watery droplets began sliding downward to the pillow his head rested on. When he opened his eyelids, more escaped to follow the others' trails.

"I'm sorry, Tom. But just know that you're safe now, and we're going to help you through this."

Tom's hand inched toward the side of the bed and his glassy, brown orbs stared at Fuller helplessly. The Jump Street captain nodded and took a hold of the officer's hand. The young man clutched Fuller's feebly, desiring to have some sort of comforting contact.

Fuller kept the fragile hand in his even after Tom fell asleep twenty minutes later. After many days filled with letdowns and failed hope, there was now remarkable joy to be had.

A silver lining had finally been reached.


	7. Chapter 10

A/N: Finally! I've been working on this one for awhile, but now, the next chapter may be slow in coming. Thanks to you who reviewed! I do appreciate it. Also, I saw Untraceable last weekend, and it was awesome. I recommend it if you like stuff like this story. :)

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

He was not sure how, but Tom knew someone else was in the room with him without even having opened his eyes. His hearing, he thought, was not spectacular or anything, yet there was the very slightest sound of movement to the left of him. The person, whoever it was, was not moving whatsoever; Tom only realized he was not alone from the faint noise of the person breathing. Cautiously, as to not cause any unneeded pain, he slowly let his eyelids flutter open and glanced to his left. It was a male nurse from what Tom could see, judging by the blue scrubs he wore, and his attention had been focused on the heart monitor and IV bags before Tom had awoken. The way he now looked at the young officer made Hanson somewhat uncomfortable. There was something familiar about him, but Hanson could not figure it out. Even though he felt uneasy, he knew he had to trust this man anyway because he could not vocalize any sort of concern or do anything.

"I see you're making a recovery, Tom," the man said indifferently.

Hanson felt what little color there was showing on his face drain away and suddenly felt incredibly nauseous. That voice. That voice from Hell. He knew it well; he had heard it every day for two weeks.

"You look scared, Tommy," Derick went on from observing the radical hysteria in Hanson's dark eyes. "You're certainly very lucky to be here, you know that? If things had gone as they were supposed to, you'd still be lying in that field, forgotten and decomposing." He saw Hanson's eyes flicker to the right, finding that the door was closed. "Nobody will bother us for the time being, I can promise you that."

Derick removed the sheets covering Tom's thin frame and tossed them to the floor. It was not until he felt a cold hand grab his flaccid member that Tom began blinking away tears. The nineteen-year old groped Hanson's cock unabashedly and frequently took to fondling the cop's testicles gently. The fingers rubbed over the few burns located on his genitals, making him grimace due to the soreness and the lingering ache created by the wounds. But the digits knew exactly how to handle him in order to take his mind off of the pain and supply him with constant ripples of pleasure – pleasure he desperately wished he could not feel.

"Why are you crying, Tommy? Aren't you liking this?"

Tom shook his head a little, being the single way he could answer the question.

"That's odd because I can clearly see and feel you getting hard – a definite sign that you are. You should be ashamed of yourself. Absolutely filthy, you are. You should be glad I'm doing this for you because there won't be anybody who would want to touch a worthless piece of shit like you now."

The young man's eyes closed as infinite humiliation filled him.  
He despised himself for letting his body respond "positively" to the intimate caresses. He wanted nothing more than for the inappropriate act to end.

"Go ahead," Derick encouraged after several minutes. "Come for me, Tom; I know you want to. The evidence is already leaking onto my hand."

A minute later, Tom trembled from the tingling, astounding sensations of orgasm. He kept his eyes tightly shut as he released his seed to coat the other male's fingers.

The amused laugh he heard made him wholly appalled with himself and significantly embarrassed.

"Good boy. I appreciate the cooperation."

Derick retracted his hands from Tom's body, surveyed them for a moment curiously, and shrugged as he made up his mind; he wiped the result of Tom's climax on the cop's face and gown. Hanson had no time to think of how dirty he felt, for he grew wary and more concerned about what the teen was planning on next. His tired, dilated eyes stared at the other man, soon focusing on Derick's hands. They had moved to a place on his arm where an IV was stuck into him. In one quick motion, the tape keeping it in place was ripped off; the needle was plucked from his vein seconds later. He winced from the sharp sting the action caused, but before he had time to process what had happened, Derick was pulling out another one and another. The teenager left only one untouched.

"Now for the fun part. You remember how good it feels, don't you?" he asked with a smirk.

He carefully maneuvered onto the bed between Hanson's legs and pushed the hospital gown up to the officer's waist. Hanson merely lay still, weeping silently as his hips were lifted just enough for a pillow to slide under him. The movement of his legs being separated more caused him a good deal of distress, yet it was nothing compared to the agony that overwhelmed him a minute later from Derick penetrating him with hardly any lubrication. He wanted to cry out, to scream for help, but the oxygen tube in his throat prevented him from making any sort of noise.

The beeping of the monitor increased in speed as Tom's heart pounded faster from the fear, anxiety, and anguish he had. The teen was in no way trying to be gentle. He pumped fully in and out of Tom's broken body with terrible force, sighing in pleasure from the feel of Tom's tense, tightening muscles. Numerous times he punched Hanson's stomach and right knee, the latter blinding the young cop with searing pain. When the teen struck his left wrist, Hanson completely blacked out for approximately twenty seconds.

"You're the perfect slut, Tommy," Derick breathed into his ear. "You'd be the perfect whore if you started charging. Either way, you're the easiest person I've ever fucked."

Tom gazed at the male above him with glassy, unbelievably sorrowful eyes and did not see any pity or mercy in the teen's expression.

_Fuller was wrong. I'll never get away. I'll never be safe. This is what I'm supposed to do now, who I'm supposed to be. I'm not meant to be saved from them._

After ten minutes Derick finally ejaculated inside of Tom and grinned deviously at the powerless, distraught man under him. He clambered over Tom to get up and gave him one last wicked look before exiting the room. Not a second later, Travis entered and shut the door behind him.

Hanson focused on the ceiling above him as Travis used his body for sexual release just as his friend had done. When Travis finished with him after fifteen minutes, he did not bother lowering the hospital gown to cover Tom's genitals, and he detached the tube of the ventilator from the one residing in Hanson's throat and left, leaving the door open.

* * *

"Tom? Tom? Can you open your eyes for me?"

The words were vague and jumbled, but he could discern "open" and "eyes" from the question. He felt a hand rest upon his right shoulder, and instinctively, he jerked away from it, his brown eyes opening wide with terror.

"Hey, hey, calm down, Tom. It's alright," Dr. Landen soothed. "Whoever hurt you isn't here anymore."

Frantically, Hanson looked around the room to confirm that the man was not lying. The statement proved true, and he averted his gaze to focus on the physician's face.

"You had us worried; we lost you there for a little while. Are you feeling any severe pain?"

Hanson shook his head ever so slightly.

"The IV's are back in place and we put you on the ventilator again because you weren't getting a sufficient amount of oxygen, but I feel that we can take you off of it now and just use an oxygen mask if you feel short of breath, okay?"

A little nod was the reply.

"I need you to tell me the truth now, alright? Did this person who came in here rape you?"

Hanson closed his eyes and refused to answer.

"Tom? I need to know whether the small amount of semen on the sheets is theirs or perhaps yours. Is it theirs?"

Reluctantly, he shook his head.

"Did they engage in intercourse with you?"

The water that had become so familiar to his eyes began seeping out from the corners of them in droplets. Feeling utterly ashamed, he nodded.

"Do you know if he used a condom? Shake your head if he didn't and nod if he did."

There was a pause as Hanson tried to remember; it was slowly growing apparent to him that his memory was nowhere near as good as it had once been. After a moment, he shook his head.

"Okay. What I'm going to do is see if there are any traces of semen still present in the anus that can be used to determine who it was. But first, I'll disconnect you from the respirator, we'll get you changed into a clean gown and move you to the other bed, and then I'll get a sample, alright?"

Hanson let his eyelids drift open to stare at Landen's kind face, and Landen took it that he understood. Once the connecting part was unhooked, Tom was instructed to blow out in order to remove the tube from his throat. The action made him cough hoarsely several times when it was taken out. He was told not to speak for a little while, though he did not plan to anyway; there was nothing to say.

With careful conduct, two male nurses moved and settled him with IV's and all on the other bed before they gently undressed him. They eased a clean gown onto him and drew the privacy curtain as Dr. Landen took a seat at the end of the bed, armed with latex gloves and what seemed to Tom like an extra long Q-tip in one hand.

"Okay, Tom. I'll try to make this as quick and painless as I can. There's no need to feel embarrassed or anything like that."

Unhurriedly and delicately, Landen bended and lifted Tom's left leg before pushing it away from the other leg in order to separate them more. Tom winced and emitted a quiet whimper.

"Doing great, Tom," Landen commented and leisurely, he started to inch the 'Q-tip' inside of Tom. Immediately, the young officer went tense, causing the doctor to wait a couple of minutes before Hanson was relaxed enough. The object made its way into him halfway then twisted and cautiously scraped the sides of his muscles. He inhaled sharply at the sensation, discovering just how sore he was and how much Derick had hurt him.

"Almost done, Tom. You're doing fine."

Less than a minute later, the prodding instrument was removed. Landen placed it into a glass tube, capped a lid on it, and set it aside. Demonstrating immense care, he lowered and straightened Tom's leg to rest down by the other.

"All done," he announced as he pulled the bed sheets up to cover Tom from the waist down. "You did great. Get some rest now, and I'll be in to check on you later."

"Thank you," he voiced in nothing more than a whisper, taking more energy than he thought it would.

Landen gave him a caring smile before exiting the room. Tom grasped the covers with his right hand and brought them up to his chin. It was the only way to lessen the feeling of being completely exposed.

For thirty minutes, he merely stared at the ceiling, listening to the heart monitor in the otherwise silent room. He glanced out the window, smiling a little at the sight of snow falling, and then let his eyes close.

* * *

"_Doug? Pick up the phone; it's Judy. If you're there, please answer. Tom's awake now and doing alright, but something happened to him last night. Two of Danny's accomplices came and paid him a visit and raped him. No one heard anything or suspected them because they were dressed in hospital scrubs, but we're sure they're caught on one of the security cameras; Tom would then have to identify them, plus we'll have more evidence once the results come back from the semen samples Dr. Landen was able to get. Look, Doug, from what I know, Tom's pretty distraught and shaken up over it and I think it'd be really good for him if you'd come down here to see him, even if it's just for a few minutes. Just remember how hard you tried to find him and how you stayed with him for days while he was in a coma; it'd be a sad thing if you abandoned him now."_

Doug stopped the machine, rewound the tape, and played the message again. He wanted so much to just race out of his apartment door and rush to the hospital, but he knew he did not have the courage to face his partner yet. Tom surely had to hate him for not saving him as he had promised; plus, Tom had to remember what he had done to him, and he was not prepared to deal with the confrontation.

After listening to Judy's voice one more time, he headed upstairs to his already occupied bed and let the woman put her arm around his waist. With a heavy sigh, he worked on pushing away all thoughts of Tom from his mind.

* * *

"Hey, Tom," Judy greeted warmly as she came to stand at the side of the officer's bed.

Hanson turned his head slightly to gaze up at her, his whole body relaxing just from her presence. "Hey, Jude," he replied somewhat hoarsely.

"How do you feel?"

"Well, how do I look?"

She gave a small laugh and shook her head. "Not so hot."

"That's about how I feel," he stated with a little smile. "They pumped me full of pain meds, so I'm not hurting all that much at the moment."

"That's good."

"Whatever they're giving me….Something's making me really tired all the time."

"Well, you _do_ need to get plenty of rest."

"Yeah, plus there's not much to do when I'm awake anyway. TV, but that's about it."

"I'll try and come by whenever I can to keep you company. I'm sure Harry and even Booker will do the same."

Tom knew there was another name missing, though it would not come to mind. "What about….-"

"Doug?"

"Doug, yeah."

Judy sighed and glanced down at the floor nervously. "I don't know what's going on with him, Tom. He was here practically every day while you were on life support, but now it's like he doesn't want anything to do with you."

Tom looked away and muttered a quiet "oh," his expression ridden with disappointment. He felt a sudden pang in his chest, and he knew it had nothing to do with his physical condition. Judy bit her lip, regretting having told the truth, and attempted to find something to say to break the gloomy air.

"Look, Tom, that's just what I think from the way he's been acting lately, but it may not be anything like that. Give him a couple of days; I'll bet he'll come to see you."

Tom inhaled a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then released it slowly. He put on a forced smile and said, "It's not that big of a deal."

"Tom-"

"Really, it's not."

"Miss Hoffs?"

Both averted their gazes to the door to find Dr. Landen.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?" he asked.

"Sure."

Tom observed the two out in the hallway, discussing what looked to be important, for a minute or so before letting his eyelids close and dozing off. A short time later, he felt a hand shaking him awake and Judy's voice saying his name.

"What?" he asked drowsily, unable to open his eyes more than half-way.

"Do the names Derick Peterson and Travis Felton sound familiar?"

He waited a moment as he thought on it before answering, "No. I've never heard of them. Why?"

Judy looked down briefly, sighed, and met Tom's exhausted eyes with her own. "The test results came back from the samples Dr. Landen took, and they identified Derick and Travis as the men who raped you last night."

Tom's face flushed a light crimson from embarrassment and mortification. He turned his head shamefully away from her to stare out the window at the cloudy day. He clenched his teeth and started blinking frequently; he was determined not to cry.

"Were they part of the five who kidnapped you? Tom?"

The young man nodded his head reluctantly.

"But you didn't know their names?"

"They never said them," he replied in a wavering, soft voice. "They never called each other by their names and never showed their faces. The only one I knew was Danny Benton."

"Would you be able to identify Derick and Travis if you saw them?"

"Yeah, I could identify them. Look, why don't we just forget about it instead, okay?"

"What? Tom, that's ridiculous. You were raped; that's a serious offense."

"Don't you think I know that?" he asked sharply and stared at her testily.

"Then why would you just let it go like that?"

"Because _I_ want to forget," he choked out, no longer being capable of withholding his tears. "I just want it to go away. I don't want to be forced to think about it more than I already do."

"Tom….You're really thinking about letting it go? Let these scum bags walk free from all the horrible things they did to you? If that's what you truly want, I'll go and tell Fuller right now that we no longer have a case. But I know you, Tom. You're one who fights hard for justice for those who have been wronged, yet you're not willing to do that same courtesy for yourself?"

"Judy….I don't know what to do."

"You don't have to decide anything right away. Just promise me you'll think about it."

"I promise."

Judy smiled and gently grasped Tom's right hand. She did not say anything as he wept almost silently, but merely stroked his hair delicately and occasionally wiped the moist droplets away with her thumb.

Fifteen minutes later Tom was asleep, and Judy kissed his forehead tenderly before quietly leaving the room.

* * *

Another pillow had been placed behind him in order to prop him up a little more to better see the television, which was strapped to a platform bolted to the wall. Though his eyes were staring at the screen, he found it difficult to actually focus and figure out what, exactly, he was watching. He did not much care to anyway; it was on simply for the sound of something other than the beeping heart monitor and the noise of footsteps constantly coming from the hallway. From what he could tell, every show was Christmas themed, and he wondered if he had missed the holiday while being held captive; he had no idea what day of the month or week it was. Everything had blended together during his solitude to the point where he was not sure whether it was morning or night.

At the moment, Hanson felt fascinatingly calm and unmotivated to turn the channel from what he perceived as a stupid soap opera. His mind was foggy as to why he was so tranquil, yet he knew there was a good chance of it being the result from the shot he was given not ten minutes ago. He had woken up, shouting madly, at the touch of someone's hand on his left knee and had begun to thrash about in an attempt to get away. The unimaginable terror he had drowned out any pain he would have otherwise felt. All he could recall after that was a number of people running into the room, being held down, and then less than a minute later, he felt enormously at ease.

His eyes were void of any emotion as if he was daydreaming, and he did not notice the person who had entered the room until she was standing at the foot of his bed. The sight of his mother sparked life into his dark, somber orbs, and they rapidly started brimming with tears. Hers appeared to be doing the same, and two water droplets escaped to slide down her cheeks to confirm it. Even though she was beaming happily, there was an air of nervousness about her.

"Hi, mom," he whispered with a weary, relieved smile.

"Hi, Tommy," she answered equally as quiet. She cleared her throat before asking a little louder, "How are you feeling?"

With a shrug, he said, "Fine right now, but then everything starts hurting so bad. I wish they could give me something that can constantly numb me."

"The doctor mentioned they had to sedate you? Why? What happened?"

"Nothing. I, um….I was just startled, I guess. I'm alright now." He took note of her awkwardness and began to grow apprehensive in response. "Mom, what's wrong?"  
"It's nothing. But Tom, I….I have to know."

"Know what?"

She took a step forward as if wanting to move closer to where his head lay, but she stopped when she was at his waist's side. "You had….sex with those men-"

"I had no choice," he interjected helplessly.

"Have you done that before?"

"Done what?"

"Slept with other men?"

"Mom, please stop," he pleaded miserably.

"Tom, I need to know. Have you?"

He fiercely debated on whether or not to lie to her. Her expression was unreadable, yet he believed there was a high possibility that the right answer would be offensive in her mind. He swallowed hard, inhaled deeply, and forced himself to look at her directly. "Yes, I have," he stated intensely softly. "Just one time and with one man."

Margaret Hanson drew in a shuddering breath and lowered her head. Witnessing this reaction, Tom immediately regretted admitting the truth. He could handle being a disappointment to certain people, but having his mother disappointed in him was hard to take. She backed away again as if her son was a wild animal and muttered an almost inaudible, "Oh god." The confusion and mostly concealed repulsion was written on her shocked, disapproving face, and it made Tom's heart sink with extreme depression.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he uttered sincerely.

"I have to go to work now, sweetheart," she replied distantly and with no feeling. "Get better soon."

As she began to walk towards the door, he quickly asked, "Are you ashamed of me?" with tears trickling down his face.

There was a lengthy pause between them as she stared at the entrance and he gazed at her desperately. At last, she voiced quietly with a hint of remorse coming through, "Yes. I'm ashamed of you. For the vile sins you committed. I am sorry that I feel this way, and I pray that God forgives you."

"But mom, I-"

"I'll try to come by again sometime, alright? Goodbye, darling."

"Mom-"

He did not bother finishing his sentence, for she was practically already out of the room.

* * *

Doug was surprised with himself as he made his way down the second floor hallway. He was still not quite brave enough to actually go in to see Hanson face to face or have a conversation with him, so instead, he decided to merely settle for looking at him through the window located near the door of the room. In his hands, he carried four red roses bound together by a ribbon tied about the stems and a golden-brown teddy bear he had spotted in the same store he had gotten the flowers at. When he was young, he remembered having one that was a dark chocolate color, and it always made him feel better by just hugging it to him whenever his father drank himself into oblivion and his mother fell into a deep depression. He hoped having something to hold and "keep him company" would help Tom along with his recovery. It was a bit corny in his mind, and with the roses, he wondered if it was too much of a romantic gesture, though he found himself not particularly caring.

He arrived at his partner's room and was slightly taken aback at what he discovered. Ioki was seated halfway on the bed with his back against the pillows; Tom was sitting up as well beside him and was slumped against the officer's chest. Harry's arm was slung across Hanson's shoulders, and his hand gently rubbed up and down Hanson's upper arm in a soothing manner. Neither was saying anything to the other, and it was then that Doug realized how wretched and devastated Tom looked; he could also see that his partner was crying, though it was apparent he was attempting to make himself stop. Ioki murmured something to the upset, young man, to which Tom nodded before hiding his face against the other male's chest. Tom's thin, broken frame started to shake as he completely broke down sobbing. Carefully, he slid his left arm across Harry's stomach and wanted to cling to him, but he could not yet move any part of his left hand.

Doug observed them sadly for a few minutes and then turned away to tread to the main reception area. He approached a nurse who had helped take care of Tom and who he remembered seeing when he had stayed at his partner's bedside. She smiled benevolently and assured him that she would get the gifts to Tom that he said had come from the Jump Street team.

Leisurely, Doug made his way to the elevators, pausing for a number of seconds to gaze at Tom again. The younger man's eyes were closed, appearing like he was asleep, and Ioki still cradled him gingerly. Doug's lips quirked upward into a tiny smile, and he suddenly imagined that it might not be so bad to visit Tom in person as he kept thinking it would.


	8. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry for the bit of wait. I got taken up with some fluffy writing for these two. :) I'll try to get the next chapter done a little sooner, hopefully. Thank you all for the reviews! Keep them coming if you can. They brighten up my day, you have no idea. XD**

* * *

**

**Chapter Eleven**

_There was devastation and total humiliation shining through in his dark eyes, yet there was no begging present. He had given up a long time ago, asking for them to stop. He felt like a pathetic prostitute as they committed whatever depraved act they wished with his nude body._

_It was only when his best friend crawled on top of him that his eyes pleaded for help. If anyone was to show compassion to him, it was this man. He smiled a little and reached up to brush his friend's hair behind an ear. The moment he started to retract his hand, his wrist was powerfully gripped. The strength of the fingers seemed to be almost enough to crush his bones, and he emitted a whimper and gazed at the man with puzzlement._

_"Doug, you're hurting me," he whispered fearfully. The statement only made the clutch tighter. "Doug. Please. Let go of me."_

"_Sorry, Tommy," Doug said with little sympathy in his voice. "I have to."  
_

"_What? Why? Doug-"  
_

"_You need to stop talking unless I say you can."  
_

"_Why are you being like this?" The question garnered him a fierce slap to the face. He let out a tiny sound of pain from the impact and the abrupt throbbing of his cheek.  
_

"_What did I just tell you?"  
_

"_I di-"  
_

_Doug struck Tom's face again, this time with a clenched fist and twice. "Stop. Talking. Got it?"  
_

_With tears seeping from his eyes, Tom nodded.  
_

"_Good." He let go of the younger man's wrist and slid his hands along Tom's stomach and chest. Tom drew in a quivering breath and tried to remain still under the unwanted contact. "I want to make you scream just for me, Tom. I want you to know just how good of a fuck you are."  
_

"_Please don't do this, Doug. Please stop."_

_The older cop merely grinned deviously and roughly penetrated the man beneath him, earning the injured cry he so desired to hear._

--

Doug bolted upright with a gasp, eyes wide, and perspiration glinting on his skin. His breath came in heavy, uneven increments as he frantically looked around the room. It was his apartment. _He_ was not _there_. _Tom_ was not _there_. The person who _was_ with him at the moment was the woman he had been sleeping with off and on for the past week and a half, Dianna. This time, he was rather overjoyed that he was seeing _her_ and not thinking of _him_ being the one beside him.

"Jesus," he muttered, rubbing his face as if making sure he was awake.

He suddenly felt sick, and he clambered out of bed, made his way down to the main floor, and went to the kitchen sink to fill a glass with cold water. The liquid flowed down his throat quickly, and soon there was nothing left. When he set the cup on the counter, he noticed his hand was shaking.

"It was just a dream. It didn't happen. Stop freaking out," he scolded himself. _But it did happen, at least the general part of it did. I didn't hit him, but I sure as hell betrayed him_. "Shut up. Stop thinking about it. But how do you stop thinking about the time you raped your best friend? Damn it."

He downed another cup-full of water before retreating to the couch. Lazily, he flopped onto it, sighed, and stared at the ceiling. It was three-thirty in the morning, yet he was wide awake now.

At eight o'clock, after not falling back to sleep at all, he got up and hastily put on a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt. He scribbled a note to his bed mate stating where he had gone and then headed out of the apartment.

* * *

Tom winced in pain and embarrassment as he hunched forward in order for his gown to be unlaced. He clutched the teddy bear tightly to him, seeking comfort from embracing something. The fabric was parted to reveal his flawed back, and Dr. Landen lightly gripped his shoulder as he positioned a long needle at the base of Tom's spine.

"Breathe in and let it out slowly," he instructed the young man.

Tom obeyed; as he released the deep breath, the sharp object penetrated his skin and sank farther in. A quiet whimper sounded from him as the shot was administered to him. He closed his eyes and strengthened his hold on the stuffed animal in his arms.

"There," Landen said after several seconds. "All done with that. It should start taking effect in about ten minutes. The numbness will last for a few hours."

Tom nodded even though he was not quite paying attention to the words.

Out in the hallway, Doug watched his partner begin to breathe in and out repeatedly as the physician placed his stethoscope to numerous spots on Tom's chest and back. It was just one at first, making him believe he had simply pictured it himself, but when a couple more slid down his face, Doug knew his partner was crying. He had a hunch that it was due to Tom feeling exposed like he had been for his tormentors.

After a minute or so, Dr. Landen tied the laces on the back of the gown and helped Tom lie down before leaving the room. He stopped at the sight of Doug and extended his hand to greet him.

"Good to see you, Doug," he stated kindly. "I haven't seen you around lately."

"Yeah, I've been busy….with work. How is he?"

"Not great, but not terrible either. He's….okay to put it simply. He'll have to go into surgery again to do more repairs to his skull, and we'll have to do the same for his feet and knee again. The wrist also worries me because he hasn't been able to move a finger even the tiniest bit."

"What does that mean?"

"That part of him could be paralyzed. With such blows to the head, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for the nerves to have gotten messed up and not receive impulse signals from the brain. He'll need a few more surgeries on it, I'm sure."

"Jesus….How long will it be before he can go home?"

"Not for awhile. A month at the least, I believe." A beeping sound went off, causing him to glance down at the small device clipped to his belt. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Why don't you go in and visit him? He'll be getting a bit drowsy, though I think he'd like the company."

"Yeah. I probably will."

"Nice talking to you, Doug."

"You too."

Doug returned his gaze to peer through the window at Tom, who was gently wiping away the tears on his face. There was an intense yearning to go in and be at Hanson's side, but Doug's anxiety of confrontation got the better of him. He remained where he was and merely observed Hanson for almost thirty minutes. The young man had fallen asleep in that time, his left arm still slung across the bear to keep it to him. Doug smiled at this and let out a small laugh. The image was simply too cute not to.

Hanson shifted to lie more on his right side, and the bear slipped from his embrace to the floor as he did so. The initial reaction for Doug was to go in and pick it up, yet he hesitated over whether or not he should. After a short while, he got over his uneasiness about Tom possibly waking up to find him, and he finally opened the door, shut it silently behind him, and made his way to the hospital bed.

"Hi, Tom," he whispered almost inaudibly. "Just thought I'd make sure you have this with you."

He bent down and picked it up, giving it a light dusting before delicately lifting Tom's left arm and carefully nestling the stuffed animal in the crook between his right arm and chest.

"There," Doug breathed as he draped Hanson's left arm back over the bear. The action garnered a quiet sigh from Hanson, and Doug's heart sped nervously in fear of his partner opening his eyes. Hanson did not wake, however, to which Doug was thoroughly grateful for. "Sleep well, baby."

He brushed the few strands of hair covering a bit of Tom's face back and leaned down to place a kiss on the young man's forehead. His fingers caressed the spot where his lips had been and he murmured, "I love you, Tom."

Not long after he was exiting the hospital completely.

* * *

"We caught those two, Travis and Derick."

Hanson did not seem thrilled at the news. In fact, he hardly showed any sot of reaction. "Great," he said dryly.

"There were two more, right?" Judy asked.

"Yeah. Bet you won't get them."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I don't know what they look like, I don't know their names, and I doubt any of the three in custody will narc on their accomplices. Just as good," he ended by mumbling to himself.

"You don't know that."

"Doesn't matter. They can all go free for all I care."

"Now why would you think like that?"

"Because they'll be let go sometime and come after me again. Least I'd be somewhat prepared for them by knowing exactly when they are released instead of worrying and dreading over when they actually _do_ get out – sooner than later and all that, right?"

Judy gazed at him for a moment, noticing how he kept focusing his attention on his left hand. "The judge is allowing the hearing to be after you're doing better," she finally said. "Until then, they're being held in a juvenile detention center."

"Wonderful," he muttered. There was a brief pause before he spoke again, this time with a hint of tentativeness in his voice. "Hey, Judy?"

"Yeah?"

"Does Doug hate me?"

"No!" she answered, sounding surprised at the question. "Of course not. Why?"

"I haven't seen him in so long. He hasn't come here….I miss him," he added softly.

"I don't know why he hasn't been by to see you, but it's certainly not because he hates you. He misses you too, I'm sure of it."

"Can you write down his number for me? Maybe I can call him."

"Sure. Perhaps you can get through to him."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been so….closed off from everyone. And seemingly self-destructive. From what I've seen, he's started drinking a lot and lingering around with a different woman almost every night."

"He….He is?" Tom swallowed, trying to smother the abrupt, rampant feelings of jealousy, hurt, and concern.

"He's just taking all of this pretty hard. He was a total wreck when you were missing; he hasn't gotten out of it yet."

Tom hugged his bear to him, rested his chin on its head, and closed his eyes. He let out a sigh before opening them to look around the room and at the window near the door. Neither he nor Judy had noticed that Doug had been standing there out in the hallway, observing them, before walking away just seconds before Tom's eyes glanced in his direction.

* * *

The feeling of Christmas was coming to a peak, and Hanson finally discovered what the date was when Dr. Landen came into the room to tell him he would not be on duty the next day due to it being Christmas. Along with that little piece of news, he was informed that he would be having surgery again within the upcoming days, the first operation being on his knee.

For the majority of the day, he spent his time dozing off while watching the television; sleeping and flipping through channels were the only two ways he could get his mind off of the pain whenever the medication started wearing off.

Snow had been falling outside, making a winter wonderland, and apparently, it was still snowing that night when Judy, Fuller, Ioki, and Booker came into the room with white flakes in their hair and on their coats. The sight of them brought a sincerely surprised and delighted smile to his face. They greeted him warmly as they dragged chairs to the side of the bed to sit; Judy took a spot at the foot of the bed on Tom's left side, being cautious to not make contact with the young man's bandaged and braced appendages.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked brightly.

"We couldn't let you be alone on Christmas Eve," Ioki answered kindly.

"And you, Booker?"

Dennis shrugged. "They made me come." He gave Hanson a small grin, making the younger cop smile all the more.

"Well thank you. All of you." Tom glanced around before questioning, "Where's Doug?"

Ioki was about to answer, but Judy beat him to it. "He wanted to be here," she lied, not really knowing what Doug wanted to be doing. "He just….went out of town with his girlfriend." She cast a warning glance to the three others to not correct or contradict her.

"Oh. Right. Of course," he mumbled to himself.

"Hey!" she said enthusiastically to lighten the sudden dreary mood. "We got you something."

Ioki handed her a wrapped package, and she set it on Hanson's lap. It was not too big or too heavy, and it seemed to be wrapped in a way that would be easy for him to tear the paper off, but he found it difficult nonetheless when he started to try with his good hand. She offered her assistance, and soon, the colored wrapping was on the floor. He pried off the lid of the box and pushed aside tissue paper to reveal the gift underneath. When he saw it, he felt tears forming in his eyes, and he let out a quiet laugh as he removed the item. It was a stunning silver picture frame, and behind the glass, there was a photo that had been taken at the party the Jump Street team had put together for his twenty-second birthday last year. They were all standing huddled together, each of them with a bottle of beer in hand except for Doug and Tom. Doug was in the center, holding Tom lengthwise across his torso. The six of them had been laughing when the picture was taken, resulting in every one of them grinning joyfully.

Tom gently pressed his fingers to the glass, closed his eyes, and thought back to the captured moment. For the first time in what seemed like months, he felt extraordinarily happy and his usual self. The horrible memories had gone away for the time being, letting him truly enjoy the moment with his friends surrounding him.

"Wow," he said in a choked voice, a tear falling from his eye. "I remember that so well." He looked up to gaze at the group, extreme gratefulness and appreciation written on his face. "Thank you. I love it. It's perfect. Thank you….I….I wish I had something to give you guys."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hanson," Ioki stated casually. "We're all just glad you're even alive."

"And that you're doing better," Fuller added with a nod to Tom, filling the young officer with subdued joy.

"Well, we didn't come here just to exchange pleasantries," Booker interjected. "Let's drink."

He presented a bottle of red wine and one of cider. Judy pulled out plastic cups from her large purse and handed them to each person. She and Tom had cider, while the other three had the sangria. Fuller gave a traditional toast, and as he spoke, Tom merely gazed at his colleagues with adoration. This was, in his mind, one of the most extraordinary Christmases he had ever had.

A couple of hours later, the four guests left, each giving him an affectionate hug before departing. Once they were gone, Tom rested back, carefully nestling himself in a comfortable position to lie in. He still had the picture in his hand, and he looked at it for quite some time, simply smiling and reminiscing. It took him several minutes to realize his finger was continually stroking Doug's face through the glass. Even though he felt quite coy for doing so, he could not stop himself. There was such a strong desire to truly, physically touch his best friend that it frightened him somewhat.

He swallowed a knot in his throat and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Dougie. I…."

Despite no one being present in the room, he became utterly embarrassed at what he was doing and saying. He set the frame on the table close by and turned it to where he could see it clearly. For a couple of hours, he laid awake, switching between staring at the ceiling and staring out the window to watch the snow falling.

_"Merry Christmas, Tommy!" Doug voiced energetically the moment Hanson walked into the chapel.  
_

"_It's not even Christmas day yet."  
_

"_So? You really need to get in the holiday mood, man."  
_

"_I am, just…." He took note of the Santa hat Doug was wearing and laughed. "-Not as much as you, apparently.  
_

"_What are you doing for it? Anything special? Leaving town?"  
_

"_Going over to my mom's for dinner. That's about as special as it gets. How about you?"  
_

_The older man shrugged, and for a second, the cheerfulness dwindled. "I don't know yet. Haven't made any plans."  
_

"_Hey, um….You could go with me, if you want. I'd really like it if you did; it'd be nice to be with a good friend on Christmas, you know?"  
_

"_Really? I don't want to impose on your mom."  
_

"_You won't be. I'm sure she'd like more company too other than my weird uncles and aunt."  
_

"_Sure. I'd love to go. Thanks, man. Oh look! Perfect timing for it, isn't it? Perfect way to say thank you."_

_Before Tom could glance at what had caught Doug's attention, the older cop was kissing him tenderly. He stiffened from the abrupt action, but quickly realized that if he did not loosen up and respond, Doug would keep his lips against his. Hesitantly, Tom opened his mouth and submitted calmly to his friend. The kiss only lasted a minute or so, yet it seemed much longer in his mind. Doug pulled away, grinning a bit timidly, and shook the mistletoe that he was holding above Tom's head._

_"Tradition," he said matter-of-factly in order to explain why he had just attacked the younger man's mouth._

"_Yeah, tradition," Tom echoed faintly._ Maybe we should hang around mistletoe more often, _he thought, though he dared not say it. _

Tom closed his eyes and slipped into sleep, a little smile gracing his countenance as he went on dreaming about his partner.


	9. Chapter 12

A/N: Finally! A chapter with T/D fluff!!! ;D Enjoy. And thanks to each of you for the reviews from last chapter!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"_Doug? Hi, it's Tom….Hanson. I, um….I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas, so….merry Christmas! I hope you're spending it with someone special and not alone. Look, um….I miss you. It's been so long since I've seen you or heard your voice. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'd really like it if you came to see me. It….It would mean a lot to me, Doug. So if you ever have time….You'll know where I'll be. I'll be here. For awhile. And I….I guess I should go so I won't waste anymore of your time. Merry Christmas, Doug. I….Bye, Doug."_

He had been very close to answering the phone right before the answering machine picked up, and when Tom's voice sounded from the speaker, Doug was immensely relieved that he did not get to the phone in time. The younger man's words melted Doug's heart and provided him with the urge to drive to the hospital, but that familiar warning in the back of his mind held him back. Instead, he replayed the message several times over just to hear Tom say his name.

After listening to it for the tenth time, he looked at the table in the middle of the living room at the single wrapped package sitting on it. It was for his partner, and with a heavy sigh, he decided that _he_ would be the one to give it to Tom instead of having Judy or someone else do it. It was a good enough excuse for him to break down and go see Tom.

"Tomorrow. I'll go tomorrow. I swear."

* * *

No one had come. Not that he had really minded since Fuller and the gang had visited the previous night. But now, on Christmas day, the two people he had so deeply wanted to see did not come: his mother and Doug.

It was nine o'clock at night, and he had given up hoping that they would show. It was not a disappointment, really, because he had no expectations. It was only childish wishing.

Carefully, he retrieved the picture from the table next to him and gazed specifically at Doug's countenance. He remembered how the older cop looked; that part was obvious. But what upset him the most was that he could not remember the sound of Doug's voice or the way he felt.

The tear was out of his eye before he could try blinking it away. It plopped onto the glass and was fast to disappear due to his finger smearing it in circles. Before he had time to release any more emotion by staring at the photo, he placed it back on the table and turned his head in the opposite direction of where it was.

"Merry Christmas, Tommy," he whispered to himself, suddenly wishing that his holiday gift was simply to slip away into darkness.

* * *

Panic was the first thing that hit Doug when he entered the room. Where his partner was supposed to be, there was merely an empty bed. The worst thought came to mind immediately: Tom was dead, and they had already disposed of his body to the morgue.

"Get a hold of yourself, Penhall," he muttered to himself. "You're thinking crazy. Someone would've told me."

He set the rectangular box he had brought with him on the chair and wandered out to the main desk of the floor. With slight hesitancy, he went up to a nurse, who was fiddling with paperwork, and politely tapped the counter to get her attention.

"Excuse me," he began. "Can you tell me where Tom is?"

"Tom?"

"Hanson. Room 325."

"Oh yes. He…." She treaded to the other end of the area and returned with a metal clipboard covered with papers underneath the flip-up lid. "-Is up in surgery for his knee."

"Do you know how long it'll take?"

"Well, according to this, it started at eleven-thirty, and it'll probably take around a couple of hours, so it shouldn't be much longer."

"They'll just bring him down here when they're done?"

"Yep. They'll take him to post-op first where they can monitor him after the surgery and for him to wake up, which is why the whole trip to the surgery floor takes so long, and then they should be down with him."

"Alright. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He retreated to Tom's hospital room and sat on the chair near the bed, the gift resting on his lap. Nonchalantly, he observed his surroundings and attempted to crush his rampant nerves. There was worry over how the operation went in addition to the intensifying trepidation building from the prospect of at last, _finally_, being at his partner's side.

Forty-five minutes later, a gurney was rolled into the room by a male and female nurse. Doug got to his feet, his eyes fixed on the motionless form lying on it. The two workers used extreme cautiousness to move Hanson from the gurney to the bed. IV's and monitors were re-situated, and the sheets were pulled up to the young man's waist before the nurses left.

Swallowing to relieve his constricted throat, Doug shuffled to the side of the bed and silently took in his partner's appearance. Tom's eyes were closed and his skin was still vibrantly bruised. The gauze bandage that had been wrapped around his head was gone, leaving the injuries to be spotted in plain sight. Wherever he had been hit and from where the surgical incisions had been made, there were lines of stitches that went unhidden because his dark hair had been cut around each of the areas in order to sufficiently take care of the wounds. This tore at Doug's heart, seeing the numerous patches of missing hair and the gruesome sutures.

Overall, Tom looked like his body had been entirely drained of strength; he appeared utterly exhausted and worn from the wear and tear he was having to endure.

"Jesus, Tom," he spoke almost inaudibly. "What have they done to you?"

Tom emitted a deep sigh before his eyelids unhurriedly fluttered open. Doug froze and ceased to breathe for several seconds. This was it; this was the instant he had been heavily dreading.

Tiredly, Hanson gazed about the change of scenery until he noticed he was not alone. His dark eyes settled on Doug's face, and it was an immense surprise to the older man to witness the brown orbs quickly light up with excitement. A smile brightened the younger cop's features as well, which Penhall tried to reciprocate.

"Hi, Doug," Tom greeted softly.

The urge to cry all of a sudden overcame Doug, making him secretly fight to keep the tears away. "Hi, Tom. How're you doing?" The moment the question was out of his mouth, he felt incredibly stupid.

Tom did not seem to mind the inquiry whatsoever. "I'm okay. What about you? I feel like I haven't seen you in months. I….I started to think that you'd forgotten about me."

"I could never do that, Tom. I've been thinking about you so much. I was just scared to come."

"Why?"

The word caught Doug off guard. His confused expression reflected this. "Why?"

"Yeah."

"Because….aren't you mad at me? Don't you hate me?"

"Why would I hate you?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

Doug did not know whether to be ecstatic or guilty over the fact that Tom did not recall the night he raped him. The choice now was either to refresh his partner's memory or merely act like it had never happened. Despite his better judgment, he decided not to remind him.

"Never mind," he replied with a shrug. "I don't know what I was talking about."

"I'm really glad you came."

"Me too, Tommy."

"Do anything special for Christmas?"

"Special? Nah, nothing special. I just stayed home. What about you? Did your mom come by and spend it with you?"

The shattered expression that swept over Tom's countenance made Doug wish he had not asked. "No, she didn't," the young man answered and attempted to conceal the hurt in his voice. "I've only seen her once."

"God, I'm sorry, Tom."

"It's fine. I'm sure she'll come back sometime, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Definitely," Doug assured him. "So, uh, your knee, huh?"

"Yeah." He laughed a little and brushed the fingertips of his right hand over his covered thigh. "Guess it's pretty messed up. Then with my feet….I wonder if I'll be able to walk again."

"Aw, come on. Of course you will. They'll fix you up."

"I hope so."

"Oh hey! I got you something. Late Christmas gift."

Doug grabbed the package from where he had left it on the chair and set it on Tom's lap. Tom struggled to sit up, and Doug could see he would not be able to do it alone.

"Here, let me help."

He bent down, put his arms around Hanson's torso, and lifted him gently to be in an upright position against the pillows. Hanson had wound his own arms about his friend's neck, and when Doug moved to pull away, the younger man retained his hold to hug him snuggly. For a short moment, Penhall did not know how to react. Everything he had expected to happen – how he had imagined Tom to react, say, do – seemed like nothing but a crazy thought he had concocted. Tom was wholly the opposite of what Doug pictured: tranquil, kind, _smiling. _

"Thank you," Hanson breathed into the older officer's ear.

"For what?"

"For being here. Not leaving me. For saving me."

"Hey, Tommy, you're my best friend. I'll always be here for you, man."

"I love you, Doug."

Doug closed his eyes, his heart fluttering from the words. "I love you too."

They stayed in one another's embrace for a little while longer before arms finally became slack and released the other person. Tom hastily wiped his eyes, not wanting Doug to witness his extreme vulnerability. With a nod from Doug, he started picking at the wrapping paper of the box. He knew he would not get far in removing the paper on his own; it was obvious.

"Can you….?" he asked timidly.

"Yeah, sure."

The wrapping was torn away easily by Doug, leaving him to pry the lid off the box. Tom pulled out the tissue paper covering the actual gift, a soft gasp escaping his mouth at the discovery underneath.

"Oh my god," he uttered, already feeling the tears forming in his eyes.

The present was a pastel blue bowling shirt with a black collar and his first and last names sewed in neat, cursive handwriting on the upper left side in black. Beneath it was a press-on cartoon-ish picture of five bowling pins and a bowling ball colliding with them.

"Doug….I-"

"Look at the back."

Doug unfolded the garment and laid it out in front of Tom to allow him to see the other side clearly. A genuine laugh came from Tom, making Doug almost burst with joy. It was a larger picture of the pins and ball on the front of the shirt with the word "SLAM-O-RINO!" in big black letters curving around the top part of the "flying" pins.

"Do you like it?" Penhall inquired interestedly.

Hanson brushed his trembling fingers over the fabric, closed his eyes briefly, and nodded. "I love it," he answered quietly. "I really love it." He met the older man's gaze, a broad grin brightening his features. "Thank you, Doug. This is….This is one of the best gifts I've ever gotten."

"Glad to hear you say that. I was worried you might not like it all that much."

"It's perfect. And….Does this mean you'll be going to the alley with me more often?" he questioned with a quirked eyebrow.

Doug chuckled and shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably." He smiled adoringly and took his partner's right hand in his. "Merry Christmas, Tommy."

"Merry Christmas, Doug. Thank you."

Tom had been fighting off sleep ever since he had first opened his eyes, and Doug could now tell that it was catching up with him.

"Hey, do you want me to go so you can get some rest?" he asked gently.

"No, I'm…." Tom inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly. "I'm fine. You haven't even been here that long; I don't want to fall asleep so soon now that you're finally here."

"I can always come back, you know. It's okay for you to go to sleep."

"I'm sorry I'm so tired. All these medications and everything."

"It's okay. Are they working really well?"

"Yeah, they're alright. Not bad."

Tom's eyelids fluttered shut, and Doug went silent and still to observe whether Tom was falling asleep or not. After a few minutes, it was evident that he indeed had. Doug folded the bowling shirt and set it near the picture frame on the small table. He caressed Tom's hair as he kissed his forehead and cheek.

"I'm glad I came," he whispered to a slumbering Tom. "I love you."

He remained for fifteen more minutes simply to watch his friend sleep before finally exiting the room.

* * *

It was five days later when Doug returned to the hospital. As he walked into Hanson's room, he found that his partner no longer had the space to himself. A male, who appeared to be around Hanson's age, occupied the first bed. He had on an oxygen mask, but other than that, it was not really evident what was wrong with him. Doug strode by swiftly, eradicating the newfound uneasiness that had bubbled within him when he had stepped into the room. He breathed a sigh of relief as he approached Hanson's side, yet concern quickly etched itself in his features at the sight of his partner.

Tom was sitting up, his head tilted back to rest on a pillow, and was visibly paler than usual. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, sweat glistened on his skin, and he seemed to be shaking, though almost imperceptibly. A plastic bowl was on his lap, his right hand holding onto it weakly. Despite his noticeable exhaustion and frailty, he smiled cheerfully at Doug and murmured a feeble, "Hey."

Doug dragged a chair to the bedside and sat down. His gaze traveled the length of Hanson's body before he replied. "Hey. Are you okay? You look really sick."

"Reaction to some new meds and higher dosage. Haven't gotten used to it yet, I guess."

"How's your knee?"

"A little better. Having surgery on my head in a few days, then my feet, then my knee again. Like a continuous process."

"I'm so sorry, Tom."

"It's okay. I can live through it again."

As Doug made to respond, Tom was leaning forward and vomiting into the bowl he had. He gasped for air before each wave of queasiness, and Doug could merely watch as Tom hunched over the bowl and emptied the few contents he had in his stomach. Hot tears crept down the young man's face, and his body trembled greatly.

After a couple of minutes, Tom collapsed back onto the pillows with eyes closed and quiet moans sounding from him. Doug pulled out a tissue from the box on the table and gently wiped his friend's mouth. He grabbed a fresh one to dab Hanson's forehead to soak up the new beads of perspiration.

"It's okay, Tom," he whispered soothingly. "You're okay. Just relax."

Tom grimaced in pain, whimpers still escaping his throat as he panted.

"You're okay. Just relax, baby." He suddenly stopped moving at realizing what he had called Tom. Anxiously, his eyes searched Tom's expression for any sign that he had heard, but the lack of reaction reassured him that the name had not registered in Tom's mind. "I'm gonna go clean this out, okay?"

Tom's fingers fell limply to his lap as Doug pulled the bowl away from his grasp. The older cop retreated to the bathroom at the far corner of the room, which connected to the room next door. He dumped out the clear liquid in the sink, rinsed the inside of the bowl several times, and returned to his partner shortly later. He placed the bowl on the younger man's lap and sat down. Hanson's eyes were opened half-way and revealed his extreme tiredness. There was nothing more for him to give, at least it seemed that way to Doug. No energy left. No strength left. No fight left.

"Can I get you anything?" Doug asked tenderly.

Hanson shook his head.

"Do you need me to do anything for you?"

"Will you stay here with me?" he questioned practically inaudibly.

"Yeah. Definitely. As long as you want."

"Doug?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Blaming you and getting so upset after we slept together."

The statement bewildered Doug for a moment; because Tom had not remembered the rape, he figured there was a good chance he had not remembered the first time they had had sex. "Tom," he said after a period. "It doesn't matter now. That was weeks ago."

"I wanted to apologize, but I didn't get the chance."

"Hey, it's alright. I understand. There's no reason to apologize."

"Are you mad at me for that?"

"Mad at you? No, of course not. No. All that matters is that you're here for me to talk to now. I was so afraid I had lost you, Tommy."

A couple of clear droplets forged a trail down Tom's cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away.

"You're my best friend. There's no way I could be mad at you. At least, no longer than two days," he added with a grin.

The sentence roused a small laugh from the younger man. "That's fair."

"Feel better? Maybe a little?"

"Yeah. I feel better."

Tom turned his head to gaze directly into Doug's eyes and smiled appreciatively. The older officer ran his fingers through his partner's dark hair numerous times and took Tom's right hand in his left.

"I'm always here for you," he said affectionately.

"Like a McQuaid brother should be," Tom replied with a chuckle, making Doug do the same.

"Hell yes. Gotta protect my little brother."

"Least for the time being."

"Even when you get back on your feet, I'll be lookin' out for ya. It's what I do."

"And you're pretty good at it. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

During the next two hours that Doug remained at the hospital, he emptied and cleaned the plastic bowl four more times, told his friend ridiculous stories, and even let himself be persuaded into singing a couple of songs for Hanson's entertainment. Once Tom had fallen into a tranquil sleep, Doug got up and headed out the door, his heart beating faster as he thought of Tom and what it would be like to finally have him back to "normal."


	10. Chapter 13

A/N: Pretty darn quick, huh?! I'm pretty proud of myself. Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter! And to those who are reading, even if you don't drop a comment. :) This chapter has some fluffiness, so enjoy that. More angst too, of course.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

New Year's Eve found Doug at a party he had no particular interest in. Dianna, whom he had formed a somewhat "steady" relationship with, had taken him to a friend's large house where many other people had been invited. He felt awkward and out of place, hanging at her side and not saying much. His mind wandered and his attention faltered whenever she joined a conversation. Last year, he had gone to Oscar's bar with the Jump Street gang to spend the evening and drink until the new year rolled in. A smile came to his face as he remembered Tom sitting beside him, laughing and playing around – even daring to challenge Doug to a drinking contest, which, to no surprise, Tom lost.

"Doug?"

He shook his head to bring his focus back and turned to look at Dianna.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Listen, um, I think I'm gonna go."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, I'll be fine. You stay here and have a good time."

"Okay. Call me later?"

"Yeah, sure. Definitely."

They shared a quick kiss before he left the house and began walking down the sidewalk, keeping an eye out for a taxi.

* * *

With an unopened bag of various candies and a bottle of wine, Doug strode into the hospital room and crossed the area to his friend, who was shielded behind the privacy curtain. He grinned charmingly at Tom, and the younger man let out a weak laugh.

"Hey Tommy!" Doug greeted energetically.

"Hey Doug!" Tom attempted to return the hello with equal vigor, though fell rather short.

"Ready to stay up for awhile?"

"Maybe. Why?"

"You have to be up to bring in the new year!"

"I'll try."

"I got things to snack on and alcohol to pop open at twelve."

"You'll have to enjoy them without me."

"What? Why?"

"I can't have anything to eat or drink until after my surgery tomorrow."

"Aw, I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't know."

"Hey, don't get so down about it. Just means there's more for you to enjoy," he ended with a chuckle.

"I'll share a drink with you once you get out of the hospital. How's that?"

"Sounds good."

Doug took a seat in the chair next to Tom's bed and opened a miniature Hershey bar to nibble on. He refrained from eating too many of the sweets due to feeling guilty over having some when Tom could not.

"So how come you're not at some swanky party tonight?" Tom asked lightheartedly.

"Mm, I was, but it wasn't anything special. Wasn't having a good time. But I knew I'd have a good time hanging out with you."

"Well, thank you. Nice to hear that."

Doug glanced at his watch and then to the TV, which had Dick Clark's New Year's Eve Bash on. "Only two more hours. You feeling okay? Awake?"

"Don't worry, Doug. I won't leave you to celebrate the first alone," Tom assured with a smile.

"Good. I'd cry if I had to. So what's your surgery tomorrow?"

"Skull. Wrist too, I think." He swallowed hard and glanced away for a moment, deciding on whether to confess his fear or not.

Doug seemed to read his mind, for he asked gently, "Are you scared?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"I don't blame you. It's scary stuff, man."

"I've been through a couple already; you'd think I'd be used to it, but I'm still afraid. They always say there's that chance that something could go wrong, you won't wake up, you'll die….And it's my head tomorrow – that's what scares me the most. What if my-"

"Brain explodes?" Doug cut in, trying not to laugh.

Tom glared at him with feigned annoyance. "No, that's a bit ridiculous, Dougie. But something just as bad. Like, an aneurism or….I don't know. I just…."

"Hey, you're gonna get yourself all worked up over this and then feel sick and then you're not going to be able to go through with it and you have to."

"I know, I know."

"I wish I could be in there with you."

"You or my mom," he uttered quietly, not thinking Doug would hear.

"She hasn't come by again, has she?"

Tom shook his head somberly. "No, she hasn't come."

"Do you want me to call her? Ask her why? I could do it right now."

"No, don't. It's….It's okay. I think I know why she hasn't, anyway."

"What's that?"

"She's, uh….She's ashamed of me, Doug."

Those words should not have even been in the same sentence in Doug's mind. The statement seemed so absurd, so untrue, so _sad_. How could Margaret Hanson be _ashamed_ of her only son? Tom had done nothing that could make her feel such a way, had no _control_ over what _had_ happened to him – how could she possibly be appalled by him when he had done nothing wrong?

"Tom….Why? Why the hell would she be ashamed of you? You had no choice. You couldn't stop them from doing what they did."

"It's not just because of them, it's….she asked if I had slept with….men before them, and I….I told her the truth. I told her 'yes' and with only one man, one time."

"What? Why would you do that?" The question was out before Doug could catch himself. His nerves were getting the better of him.

"I couldn't lie to her; she's my mom."

"Yes, you could've. You've had to have lied to your mom _some_time in the past."

"This time was different. You don't understand."

The helpless, wearied look on Tom's visage made Doug scold himself for upsetting his friend. "Tom, I'm….I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…."

"It's alright. Hey, um, why don't we talk about something else?"

"Sure, okay. Like what?"

"Tell me all you've been doing the past few weeks."

_Other than watching almost every single time they raped you, hit you, touch you, violate you, crush you, bathe you?_ Doug bit his tongue, not daring to speak the thought aloud. He was not even sure if Tom _knew_ he had been filmed every single second of every single day for millions and millions of people to see. To be safe, he decided not to mention a word about it.

"Well, um….While you were missing, I mostly worked on trying to find you with the rest of the gang. Besides, I couldn't go out and expect to have fun without you around," he added with a sweet grin.

Tom smiled kindly and nodded. "Of course, seeing as how I'm always the belle of the ball," he joked.

"Oh definitely."

They shared a good laugh and several more as they continued to talk, passing away the time before the important minute came for the night.

* * *

"Do you wanna talk about what happened?"

"Not particularly. To tell the truth, I really don't remember what happened. There's a few things that stand out, but mostly, the whole ordeal is pretty vague."

Tom sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, taking comfort from feeling the steady rise and fall of Doug's chest. He was stretched out on his right side, being careful to keep his right leg extended and in a comfortable position. Doug was lying on his back next to him, though a bit more propped up by pillows. His arm was around Tom's bony shoulders, holding him closely, and his other rested beside Tom's left arm that was stretched across his stomach.

"Honestly," the younger man continued softly, "I'm sort of glad I don't remember much. I think I'd be more messed up than I am if I did. This way, I won't have to be forced to tell a psychologist about anything because I don't remember. It's good that no one really knows what happened."

Doug swallowed, keeping down the urge to shoot down Tom's theory; he did not have the heart to correct him. "Yeah," he agreed after a number of seconds. "Good that nobody really knows. So you don't remember much of anything? Seriously?"

"Other than the sledgehammer and showers, no, I don't." There was no way he would confess to his best friend that he was raped on numerous occasions – even if he truly only did remember it occurring approximately five times out of the more realistic one-hundred-forty.

"You'll probably get your memory back. The doc said it's normal for you to have memory loss and forgetfulness."

"Question is: Do I want it back?"

Doug was about to respond, yet Tom interjected before he could.

"There it goes."

Both of their gazes were fixed on the television screen, watching the bright, flashing circular object slowly move down the pole atop a New York City building. They could hear the enormous crowd chanting the countdown, and quietly, Tom and Doug joined them.

"Ten….Nine….Eight….Seven….Six….Five….Four….Three…Two….One."

Fireworks shot up into the air and the mob cheered.

Tom smiled a little and let out a small sigh. "Happy New Year, Doug."

"Happy New Year, Tom."

"I didn't think I was going to make it to see January first."

"I couldn't be more thankful that you did."

Tom could not stay awake very long after the Time's Square bash concluded. He fell asleep in Doug's embrace, causing undeniable adoration to flow through the older cop. Doug closed his eyes merely to "rest" them before he planned to get up and leave, but he too was soon fast asleep.

* * *

"_Is this what you thought it would be like?" Doug inquired lightly.  
_

"_No. It's better." Tom moved his arms from around his partner's waist to wrap them about Doug's neck. "Much better."_

_As they continued to sway back and forth to the music playing softly on the radio, Tom lifted his head and kissed Doug tenderly. The large hands resting on his hips inched upward along his sides then to the collar of his shirt to start unbuttoning the garment. Excitement sparked within Tom's body, rising in intensity whenever he felt Doug's fingers brush against his bare skin as they moved downward. When the last had been undone, Doug parted the fabric and let his palms rove over his lover's torso. Tom laid his head on the older man's shoulder, closed his eyes, and sighed contently. Hot pleasure surged through him as he gave in to the astounding sensations._

_"Mm, Doug….You want to go to the bedroom?"_

"_That's too far," Doug whispered huskily into the younger male's ear. "I want you now."  
_

"_What are you suggesting then, officer?"_

_Without breaking apart, Doug carefully lead Tom backward until they reached the couch. Tom obligingly lowered himself onto the piece of furniture, bringing his partner with him as he stretched out on his back. The fingers that had once been rubbing against his chest were now groping him through his jeans. He moaned blissfully and raised his hips in approval, yearning for Doug to claim his body._

_"Take me, Doug," he begged breathlessly._

"_Is that what you want?"  
_

"_Ohhnn….Yes."_

_Wasting no time, Doug had Tom's jeans and boxers discarded on the floor in less than a minute. The smaller man's thin frame was trembling with anticipation. A little while later, after much fondling and kissing, Doug penetrated his lover, drawing a long groan from Tom._

_"Happy New Year, baby," Doug said adoringly._

_Tears were forming in Tom's eyes, and he did not know whether he was crying because of his extreme happiness or indescribable pleasure coursing through him…._

**

Doug was startled awake from feeling something hitting him numerous times. He opened his eyes, ready to yell at whoever it was, yet the annoyance dwindled rapidly when he discovered what was truly happening.

Tom was thrashing about, his right arm and even his feet kicking Doug in the side. His eyes were tightly shut, his skin shined with sweat, and he was making distressing noises. Doug shifted downward to sit near his partner's waist and faced him, taking hold of his upper arms.

"Tom! Tom! Wake up, buddy. Wake up! Tom!"

Hanson's eyes shot open, and a loud cry came from his throat. The brown orbs darted all about the room, not seeming to be really seeing anything; the instant his wild gaze landed on Penhall, he began to scream in terror.

"Go away!" he shrieked, tears raining down his cheeks. "Leave me alone!"

"Tom! It's me! It's Doug!"

"Please just leave me alone! Don't touch me!"

"You have to calm down! I'm not going to hurt you!"

"No! Stop touching me! Stop it! I don't want it! Get off of me! Go away!"

Penhall stared frantically at his friend, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, four nurses ran into the room, and Doug got up to move out of their way. Three of them did their best at restraining Tom, pinning him to the bed and trying to soothe him by talking to him. The fourth was preparing a needle that was soon inserted into an opening in the IV tube running into Hanson's vein, and the liquid content was emptied out to flow into his body.

"Is he okay?" Doug asked anxiously. "Is he okay? What's wrong with him?"

None of them answered him right away, but rather concentrated on relaxing Hanson as best they could until the sedative took effect. It did not take long, and as three of them worked on re-situating the disheveled sheets and straightening out Hanson's gown, the female nurse went to Doug to give a brief explanation about the panicky, riled episode. After she had finished, she left him by saying that it was best if he left at that moment.

Doug looked worriedly at Tom, who was now lying motionless and silent, and nodded understandingly. Without an arguing word, he followed the nurses out the door and found himself heading home.

* * *

As planned, Doug returned to the hospital the next evening, hoping that Tom had not had any more "episodes" since the one the previous night. He had forgotten that Tom was slotted for an operation during the day and had most likely been tranquil the majority of the time. When he stepped foot into the room, he remembered.

The first thing that reached him was the sound of someone moaning weakly in agony. He glanced at the teenager in the first bed, observing that it was not him making the pitiful noises.

"Someone should put him out of his misery," the invalid stated gloomily after shifting the oxygen mask down so he could speak. "He's been crying in pain ever since they brought him back, poor guy. Looked painful, so I don't blame him."

"He's awake, then?"

"Maybe."

"Have they given him pain medication, do you know?"

"Maxed him out on everything."

Doug swallowed hard, muttered a sincere "thank you," and crossed the room to be behind the privacy curtain with Hanson. What he saw tore his heart in half. Hanson lay on his back, occasionally writhing about, and uncontrollably whimpered wretchedly. There was some sort of contraption encasing the top of his head, and it stayed in place with the help of bolts puncturing through his skin; Doug grew faint at the thought of the metal possibly penetrating his skull as well.

"Oh Jesus, Tom," Penhall uttered under his breath.

He moved to stand near the head of the bed and gazed down sympathetically at his partner. The younger man's eyes were half-way opened, yet could not concentrate on anything specific. It was as if he were in an entirely different world.

"Tom? It's Doug. Can you hear me?"

A strangled sob came from Hanson before he looked to the side to find Penhall. "Doug?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Yeah, I'm here. It's me."

"It hurts so much," Hanson managed to say as he wept incessantly. "It hurts. Make it go away, please, god."

"Can't they give you more meds to lessen the pain? Maybe knock you out?"

"They've already given me all they can for now. Can't for another couple hours. God, I want it now. I just wanna go home, Doug. I just wanna go home."

"I know, Tommy, I know. But you won't be leaving for awhile. I'm so sorry."

Witnessing his friend in such an enormous amount of anguish made Doug badly wish that he could take all of that away; he would gladly switch places with Hanson just to see him finally free of agonizing torture.

"Make it go away," Tom pleaded desperately. "Please Doug. Help me."

"I….I can't," the older cop whispered, tears at last trickling down his face. "Believe me, I would if I could." As he stared at Tom from head to toe, he noticed the young male's left wrist and hand were wrapped differently than before and had fewer pins poking out. "Did they work on your hand too?"

"I wanna go home. It hurts, it hurts," Tom repeated helplessly.

"Tom? Did they work on your hand?" The lack of an answer made him realize his partner could no longer comprehend anything other than the terrible anguish he was submerged in.

Doug dragged the chair to the right side of the bed and sat down. He laced his fingers with Tom's and delicately kissed each one individually.

"You're going to be okay, Tommy. You're strong; you'll make it."

Doug remained silent as Hanson continued to mumble incoherently to himself. The state of dementia went on until a nurse entered the room and administered various medications in differing doses. The drugs eventually rendered Tom unconscious, to which Penhall was tremendously grateful for. While Hanson slept, the older officer stayed at his side, gently massaging the frail hand in his, and contemplated the harsh consequences of Tom's imprisonment. He realized now that it was nothing but foolish hope to believe Tom Hanson would resemble even half the person he had once been. Too many physical injuries affected him to the point where he would certainly not be the same in that respect. And emotionally, Doug was starting to see just how greatly the events had impacted his friend mentally.

Whenever Tom would be released from the hospital, it was very clear to Doug that the path to true recovery would just be beginning.

* * *

A/N: How do you get 140 occurences of rape? Take five (for the number of guys) times two (which is the average amount each raped him per day) then times that by 14 (two weeks). Just thought I'd share that to show how I came up with it.


	11. Chapter 14

A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope you enjoy. Thanks for all the nice reviews! I'd give you all cookies if I could, haha. :) After this part, the damage can really begin on Tom!

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

It was supposed to be like any other visit to the hospital, but when Doug neared Tom's room a week after last having seen him, he spotted a sign taped to the window of the door.

_Please consult with a physician or nurse before entering._

The statement quirked Doug's eyebrow as bafflement settled in on him. He glanced around for the nearest hospital employee and, soon, he was able to stop a female nurse he had seen in the past.

"Why is this sign up?" he asked quizzically.

"You're a friend of Tom's, right?"

"Yeah."

"He's, um….He's been having a tough time lately. It might be best if you not come see him for a couple of weeks."

"What? Why?"

"He won't let anyone near him. He's become very defensive, highly emotional, and grows terrified whenever someone is close. Sedatives have to be given, and sometimes we have to strap him down because he gets so wild. That's why we have this notice so that anyone who is here to see him has a nurse or doctor present in the room since the outbursts have become frequent. We don't want him or someone else to get hurt."

Doug's mouth fell open as he digested the words. Was Tom really so hysterical about his ordeal that he would act out so drastically? "Are you serious? He's that bad?"

"Yes, sadly. Seems like more pieces are coming together for his memory. It's understandable why he would act like this, considering all he went through, but it is a bit more extreme and dramatic than what we usually see in rape victims. Though, of course, that wasn't all that happened to him, so that could contribute to his fears."

"Is he seeing the psychologist yet? It's procedure," he added quietly.

"It's procedure here too. Dr. Hawkins, our resident psychologist, came down yesterday to try and have a session with him, but Tom just got incredibly worked up to the point where he actually lashed out that nothing was discussed. He doesn't speak at all unless he feels threatened or you talk very, very gently – almost as if you would talk to a child."

Doug rubbed his face and muttered in disbelief, "Jesus Christ." He turned his gaze to peer through the window, witnessing his partner squirming underneath the leather restraints, looking worn out but determined. The younger man's eyes were closed as his head turned from side to side, and it was evident that he was constantly mumbling to himself. Doug could only watch for a minute before he felt the urge to break down entirely. Quickly, he averted his eyes back to the nurse, swallowed, and tried to find his voice to speak.

"Is he….Is he going to get better?"

She smiled sadly and shrugged. "I don't know, to be honest. I believe he will, but….he's in an incredibly bad place at the moment, emotionally and physically. I don't see him getting better anytime soon in the near future, if that's what you mean."

"Yeah….Right….Can I go in? Just for a second."

"It's not a good time," she said regretfully. "I'm sorry. It'd be best if you didn't."

"I understand," he voiced after a slight pause. He gave a faint smile and nodded. "Thank you for telling me this."

"We'll take good care of him. I promise."

With another nod, he headed down the hallway to the elevator, droplets of water teetering on the edge of his eyelids as he headed out.

* * *

" 'Despite the vicious concussions he received, it has been confirmed that he is not paralyzed as most believed he would be. He is still slowly recovering at St. Joseph's hospital, though sources say he is making it harder on himself. It has been reported that he is prone to fits of anger, which are impeding physical improvement and mental stability.

Even after knowing Hanson's situation, there are some who worry that it will make him turn to a path of violence and become a danger to the public.

'I think he should just be put away in a mental institution,' states an officer who is involved in the case. 'From what I've seen and heard, it seems highly unlikely that he'll be able to go back to living a comfortable life or take care of himself.'

A neighbor of Hanson's worries that having the officer back in the apartment complex will have a negative impact on others in the building, including her children. "The fact remains that he had relations with men, and that's something I don't want my kids exposed to, that [homosexual] lifestyle. Even if he isn't, people are going to see him that way.' " Judy shook her head in disbelief and lowered the newspaper to lie flat on her desk. "Can you believe this article? How can people say things like this?"

"It's a real shame," Ioki added. "Poor Hanson. I think that guy's right about him having a hard time adjusting back to real life, though."

"I do too. Everybody knowing who he is for the wrong reasons, getting wrong impressions…."

"What are you guys looking at?"

Judy and Ioki turned, startled, to see Doug approaching them. Ioki stood from where he had been sitting on the edge of Judy's desk, and she frantically attempted to hide the paper in the top drawer.

"Uh, nothing," she lied quickly. "Just some….paperwork."

"We're on a case together," Ioki offered. "We were just discussing it. Continue later?" he asked Judy.

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds good."

Ioki strayed off in the opposite direction, leaving Doug to scrutinize Hoffs, who was edgier now that the other cop was gone.

"Let me see it," he said firmly, though not angrily.

"Doug, it's nothing. Really."

"Let me see it, Jude."

"I really don't think it's a good idea-"

"Judy."

The tone in his voice was sterner now, and she knew she was not going to dissuade him. Reluctantly, she retrieved the newspaper from the drawer and handed it over. Doug glanced over the front page until he found the article in question at the bottom of the page. A picture of Tom before the abduction was printed next to the text, along with a photo of him after – eyes closed and head encased in the contraption Doug had seen him in after the head surgery – making it very easy to view the extreme difference in appearance he had gone through.

Hoffs watched her friend solemnly, noting the immense melancholy in his expression and how upset he was. There was nothing she could do but utter a soft apology. When Penhall was finished reading, he threw the newspaper in the trash and walked away. Once he was gone from her sight, she pulled it out and put it in the bottom drawer of her desk.

It was yet another one of many articles about Hanson to add to the ever growing pile.

* * *

He had been so oblivious; he wondered how he was capable of not noticing the publicity Tom was getting. After seeing the article Judy had, Doug was now aware of what else was around him with related texts – magazines, local and national newspapers, news broadcasts, and online at various websites that had plucked the pictures and video files off Danny Benton's original website. He thought of Mrs. Hanson and how she was possibly reacting to hearing and viewing more about her son's kidnapping and incapacitation, along with peoples' reactions.

But then he thought of Tom. What if he were to find out what was being published about him? It would tear him apart, Doug knew.

With a heavy sigh, Doug closed the site he had been looking at, dragged himself to the couch, and flopped onto it. Tom did not have to be aware of it all to be torn up over it; he already was.

* * *

Three weeks went by before Doug made the choice of returning to the hospital. The sign that had been posted on the door was gone, which he took as a good thing, and without hindrance, he quietly stepped into his friend's room. The teenager in the first bed seemed to be doing better, for he did not have the oxygen mask on, and he was asleep as far as Doug could tell. Tom, however, was an entirely different matter. The young cop was curled up on his left side, though his right leg remained straight in its brace, and was entirely motionless. Doug walked to the other side of the bed to see his face and sat down in a chair in front of him. Hanson's eyes were vacantly staring ahead, his right hand was tucked under his head, and he made no effort to even acknowledge his partner. There was no reaction from him whatsoever.

"Hey Tommy," Penhall offered sweetly.

Nothing.

"How are you feeling? Better? Worse? The same? Any good news?"

Silence complimented by a blink.

Penhall sighed and simply gazed at the other officer with great concern for a long moment. Hanson did not seem at all phased by this. "Hey, um, they told me you're not eating much anymore," he at last said. "Why is that? Tom? You can talk to me. Open up. I'm not here to cause you any sort of discomfort."

If there was a cricket in the room, it would probably be the only thing to hear; Tom was not taking the bait.

Deciding to pose another question, Doug ventured, "How's physical therapy going? I heard you started that, right? Get you back up on your feet and all."

For a lengthy period, another heavy silence filled the room. Doug looked around uninterestedly, inwardly deciding that if Hanson did not say a word within ten more minutes, he would leave. As it was nearing the mark to go, Doug turned his full attention back to Tom and frowned from what he saw.

Tom was crying.

"Hey, Tom," Doug spoke tenderly as he moved to sit on the edge of Hanson's bed. He rubbed the younger man's back soothingly, feeling just how thin his friend was getting. "What's wrong? Was it something I said?"

Doug was taken aback when he received a shake of the head as an answer.

"Then what is it? Tell me. Maybe I can help."

"You can't," Tom forced out despondently.

"How come?"

"You just can't. It's not possible. I'll never be able to use my stupid fucking hand again or my stupid fucking legs. I can't even stand on my good leg because of my fucking foot."

"How often do you have therapy sessions?"

"Every other day. There's been no improvement. I can't even get my god damn fingers to work. And it's not just that. I must've dropped a thousand IQ points when they hit me with that bat."

"That's not true-"

"There are days when I can't even remember my fucking name. And yours. Or anyone else's name. I'm useless. I'm a worthless piece of shit, Doug."

"No, you're not. You're not. You can still recover from all of this. You can do it; I know you can. You're so strong, Tommy. _So_ strong. You've survived this far, I know you'll be able to get up and walk around or make a fist with your hand because you're a fighter, Tom. Don't give up. Please, don't give up."

Tom exhaled a number of shaky breaths before he said in a constricted voice, "I don't even know if I can trust you."

"Of course you can," Doug assured gently. "I'm your best friend. I'll never hurt you. I swear to god."

"I can't believe that. What if you're just like them? I can't go through that again!" Suddenly rationalizing that Doug was an enemy who would have no qualms about abusing or raping him, Tom shoved his partner's hand away and shouted, "Don't touch me! Get out! Get _out_! Leave me alone!"

"Tom, I-"

"Get out!" the hysterical patient practically shrieked. "Go! Leave me alone!"

Doug swallowed down the knot in his throat and rapidly blinked away the tears that had formed in his eyes. As he made for the door, a handful of nurses and doctors rushed into the room and flocked to Tom, who was convulsing wildly and screaming the words continuously.

It was not until Doug reached the end of the hallway when the loud yelling finally died away.

* * *

For his last month at the hospital, Tom was transferred to the psychiatric ward due to his frequent outbursts and mood swings. The rage he demonstrated made some think that he would physically harm himself if not closely monitored. The change in location made Doug more uncomfortable to visit his friend because of him being in the "crazy ward." The times he did, Tom was either one of two extremes: mellow and somewhat talkative or terribly distraught and upset, in which case the visit was abruptly ended by Tom screaming defensively and hurling his pillows at the older cop.

When the day finally came for Tom to be released, Doug found him to be eerily quiet and solemn. The young officer was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in pastel blue scrubs. His head was bowed, looking as if he was staring at the bootie covering his left foot and the special Velcro, cushioned sandal on his right, big enough to cover the base of the brace.

"Hey Tom," Doug greeted softly as he took a seat next to his friend and set aside the hoodie he had brought for Tom to wear.

"Hi, Doug," was the murmured response.

"You ready to go home?"

Hanson shrugged. "I guess."

"You don't seem very excited."

Another indifferent shrug.

"What's going on? What's wrong?"

"I'm not. I'm not….excited. I'm….kind of scared, Doug. Going back to being alone, hobbling around on my own…."

"I can stay with you for a couple of weeks if you want. Help you out, get settled in again."

Hanson smiled and lifted his head. "You don't have to. I'll be okay. Besides, I can't ask you to do something like that.

"Come on. What are friends for?"

"_Are _you still my friend?"

"Of course! Why would you ask that?"

"Because of how I've been acting. I'm sorry, Doug."

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's fine. I can understand."

Several minutes later, Doug had Tom's Mustang parked in front of the hospital entrance and had crutches, a cane, and the few personal possessions Tom had had in his room packed onto the backseat. While he was away, Hanson put on Doug's sweatshirt, loving how it seemed to swallow him up and protect him. When Penhall returned, Hanson pulled up the hood to cover his head and allowed his partner to sweep him into his arms. He did not want to be rolled out in a wheelchair; it would only make him feel even weaker and helpless than he already was.

As Doug carried him down to the main floor and made his way to the front doors, news reporters with cameras and camcorders started bombarding them with questions as if Tom were a celebrity. Tom kept his face shrouded by the hood and turned away towards Doug's chest. A number of nurses and doctors worked to keep the press back to let Doug through, and at last, they had reached the car. Gingerly, Penhall set his partner down into the passenger's seat and hurriedly made his way around to the driver's side to get in.

In less than a minute, they were out of the frenzy.

Doug glanced over at his friend, though he could not see any part of Hanson's countenance. Hesitantly, he cautiously took Tom's left hand in his and massaged it delicately. Tom winced, for it had not healed completely to the point of not causing him pain, but he was glad he could at least bend his fingers enough to grasp things now due to the many physical therapy sessions. He laced his digits with Doug's, which brought a cheerful grin to his friend's visage.

"Welcome home," Doug said thirty minutes later.

Tom gazed out of the door's window to view his apartment building. With a sigh, he mumbled, "Yeah, home. Finally."

* * *

"Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Eat? A blanket?"

Tom settled himself on the couch, grimacing in mild agony from his throbbing feet. Though he was able to get around on his own with the help of crutches, he could not be up for long without causing severe pain and discomfort. "No thanks. I'm fine."

"You sure you won't be more comfortable lying down in your bed?"

The mention of his bed made Tom seize up for a moment. He glanced to his room, spotting the disarrayed sheets and previously flung pillows on the floor. "Uh, yeah," he said after a pause. "I'm sure."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You got all weird there for a second."

"Oh. Sorry. I just can't sleep in there until I change the sheets."

Doug was about to ask why, yet he quickly thought up the reason. The last people to have rolled around on the covers were the ones that had forced themselves on Tom for the first time. "Do you want me to do it?"

"No, I'll get it. Sometime."

"Where are some clean ones?"

"Doug," Tom said with a small laugh, "You don't have to."

"I want to. Now where are they?"

"Um…." His mind was utterly void of any sort of answer, for he had no idea where he kept them. "In….They're…." He closed his eyes tightly, trying exceptionally hard to remember. "In the…."

"Don't worry. I'll find them."

Doug began strolling about the apartment in search of the bed linens, while Tom turned on the television and started flipping through channels absentmindedly. He stopped when he came to a news channel, frowning when he heard the words "cop" and "kidnapped" in the same sentence. Doug heard them too, and he ran to snatch the remote out of Tom's hand and frantically changed the channel.

"What was that about?" Tom asked, somewhat annoyed.

"Oh, nothing. Just thought it'd be best if you didn't watch anything depressing, and you know the news is nothing _but_ depressing," he answered as he punched in two numbers to turn it to a network station that was playing some movie.

"I guess. You don't have to be so abrasive though."

"Yeah, sorry."

He gave the changer back to the younger man and, having found a pair of clean sheets, shuffled into the bedroom to begin stripping and making the bed.

"God, that was close," he whispered to himself, relieved. "What are you going to do to keep him from watching that stuff, Penhall? Can't break his TV. Damn it."

When Hanson fell asleep two hours later, Doug decided on simply fiddling around with the knobs and buttons on the front and back of the television until he was successful in getting the screen to become nothing but static no matter what channel he turned it to.

"You _are_ a genius, Doug," he said in accomplishment. "It'll do."


	12. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Not as long of a wait. Good, right? :) Takes up right where ch. 14 left off. This one has some cute fluffy moments in it, believe it or not!

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

"Hey, Tommy, wake up."

Tom groaned sleepily before mumbling, "What is it?"

"Thought you might be up for a little dinner."

The young cop opened his eyes to discover Doug hovering over him. "What time is it?"

"Almost six."

"I've been asleep that long?"

"Yeah. I figured it'd just be best if I let ya sleep for awhile. So! What are ya in the mood for?"

"Hm….How 'bout soup and a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Alrighty. I'll go start whippin' it up."

"Do you need some help?"

"Nah, I'll be fine."

"Okay. I'm gonna take a shower….or bath, rather."

"Are _you_ gonna need some help?"

"I think I can manage. I just have to put that special cover thing over the brace so it doesn't get wet."

"Okeedokie. Hop to it then!"

The stronger cop helped Hanson to his feet and watched him leisurely make his way to the bedroom until he was out of sight. He waited a minute until he heard the sound of water running before venturing into the kitchen to search through the cabinets for canned goods and dishes.

"Aha!" he said in accomplishment from finding various kinds of soup. "What would he like? He's not sick, so not a chicken noodle kind of day. Tomato? Yuck. How can he eat that stuff? What's this?" He pushed a few cans aside to read the label on one. "Clam chowder. Sounds good to me."

He pried off the lid after putting the can opener to it, poured the contents into a pan, and set it onto one of the burners on the stove to heat up. A skillet occupied the burner beside it, though left unlit as Doug rummaged around the fridge for bread, cheese, and butter.

"Doug?" he heard Tom call for him.

"Yeah?" Doug shouted back.

"Can you come here?"

Penhall strolled across the living room to the bedroom and found Tom sitting on the end of the bed with a towel wrapped around his otherwise nude body and had his head bowed.

"What's wrong?" Penhall asked with concern as he moved to sit beside him.

Shaking his head, Tom voiced quietly, "I can't do it. I thought I could."

"Do what?"

"Get into the water."

"What, like, help getting in? That's not a big deal."

"No, it's not that. God, I'm so pathetic."

Doug glanced toward the bathroom, trying to piece together whatever he could to solve whatever mystery this was. A sudden handful of images flickered in his mind of Hanson submerged in hot water, thrashing around to break free of the hands holding him down.

"You're afraid of the water," he said with understanding.

"Stupid, huh?"

"No. Not after what they did to you with it."

"How do you know what they did?" Hanson raised his head to stare accusingly at his partner.

Doug's mouth opened, but no words filtered out for a few seconds. "Cause," he shrugged casually. "I just figured it had to be because of them and whatever they did to make you scared. I don't know what they did, but I can guess it wasn't all too pleasant."

Hanson gave a small laugh. "Yeah. It wasn't too pleasant."

"Look, they're not here, and you're in control of how hot or cold that water is. You have the choice of getting out whenever you want to, not whenever someone else dictates when you can. No one's here to hurt you. It's just you. And me in the other room."

There was a lengthy pause before Tom spoke faintly, "I think I may need your help. I don't think I can get in on my own."

"You ready then?"

"Yeah," he answered in a sigh.

Tom led the way into the bathroom, set his crutches against the sink, and displaying tremendous self-consciousness and reluctance, he removed the towel from his small frame. Doug scolded himself for gawking at his friend with practical lust and made sure he kept his focus _above_ Tom's waist. Taking Tom's hand in his, he steadied Tom as the younger man stepped into the bathtub. He could feel his partner shaking, but made note not to bring attention to it.

"Ready?" he questioned once both of Hanson's legs were in the water.

"Yeah."

Slowly, Doug eased the smaller male down until he was sitting.

"Okay?"

With a nod, Tom answered, "Okay."

"You want me to stay?"

"No, I think I can do this part alone," he said with a shy smile.

"Dinner in ten minutes, then!"

Being sure to leave the door open, Doug left to give Tom privacy and returned to the domestic duty of making a meal.

* * *

"Dinner awaits!" Doug announced fifteen minutes later, coming into the bathroom. "You finished?"

"Yeah. Can you….help me out?"

"Sure."

Taking care not to rush in fear of hurting Hanson somehow, Doug hooked his arms under Tom's and unhurriedly hoisted him up. He steadied his partner as Tom stepped out of the tub one foot at a time. Doug did not notice Hanson sway slightly or his eyes drift upward as he reached for a towel. Just as he unfolded it, Hanson's eyes closed and he slumped forward. Penhall caught him, leaned the small frame against his, and wrapped the towel around Hanson's waist.

"Tom? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

A feeble groan was his answer.

"Alright, alright. Let's just get you to the bed."

He swept Tom up in his arms and strolled into the bedroom to lay him on the queen-sized mattress. Delicately, he brushed back the wet strands of hair obscuring Tom's face and caressed his cheek.

"Tom? Come on, buddy. Come back."

"Ugh….Doug?"

"Right here."

"What happened?" he inquired as he let his eyes flutter open.

"You blacked out for a minute there. You okay?"

"My head feels like it's being split open."

"Do you want some of those pills the doc prescribed you?"

"Could you get 'em?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Thanks."

While Doug went to fetch the medication, Tom placed his hands on the sides of his head and gently moved his palms in circles to try and lessen the unbelievable pain. The older officer returned shortly with a glass of water and two decently sized pills. With a bit of a struggle, Tom raised himself up to where he could comfortably swallow each pill with a gulp of water and then rested down again with a low moan.

"Jesus Christ," Tom whispered exasperatedly. "It hurts so bad."

"Do you feel up to eating still?"

"Yeah, just….give me a few minutes. And I need to put some clothes on."

"_No!_ You don't want me seeing your gorgeous physique anymore?!" Doug cooed humorously.

It roused a little chuckle from Hanson. "No, I don't want you seeing my _hideous_ physique anymore. Bad enough you've seen it already." Doug opened his mouth to object, but Hanson cut him off before he could even get a word out. "Don't tell me I'm not horrible looking. I know it. It's fine."

"But Tom-"

"Dinner ready?"

"Um, yeah. It's ready."

"You can go ahead and start without me. I'll be out in a couple minutes."

Realizing he would not be getting anywhere in convincing Hanson otherwise about his body, Doug shuffled out of the bedroom with a sigh.

Though the throbbing in his head had not subsided, Tom sat up, despite his desire to simply lie where he was. He did not hurry as he stood up, situated his crutches under his arms, and hopped along to his dresser to fetch a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Knowing he would not be able to keep his balance if he attempted to put on his garments while standing, he limped back to sit on the bed to get dressed. The task proved more demanding then he initially thought it would, causing him to lie down to catch his breath for a period.

Two minutes later, he was hobbling out of the bedroom and to the sofa where Doug was seated. The older cop had placed a bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich on a plate on the coffee table in front of the couch for Tom. He was currently sipping at his own soup, his sandwich already gone.

"Thanks," Tom said gratefully as he sat down beside his partner.

"No problem."

"Oh, Doug, you have no idea how _good_ it felt to take a bath on my own."

Grinning in amusement from his friend's confession, Doug inquired with a quirked eyebrow, "How good?"

Tom smiled broadly as well. "_So_ good." He took one half of his grilled cheese to start nibbling on, stared at the silent television set for a moment, and then finally asked, "Anything on TV?"

"Weirdest thing, Tommy. Every channel's just static. Like your cable got knocked out or something."

"Huh, that is weird. Wanna watch a movie then or something?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Surprise me. All the ones I have are there on the shelf, under the TV."

Setting down his bowl, Penhall moved to the floor to scour the various titles. He settled on one quickly and pushed the VHS into the video cassette recorder.

"What'd'ya pick?" Hanson queried as Penhall situated himself next to him once more.

"It's a surprise."

"Ah, right."

Not being able to contain it, Tom burst out laughing when the title, _Die Hard,_ came on the screen, and Doug felt as if his heart would burst with sheer joy from hearing such a beautiful sound.

* * *

As the second movie they decided to watch came closer to the end, Doug looked beside him at his friend and smiled a little from seeing Tom's eyes closed and his mouth open slightly. The younger male had curled up on his side and let his head lay on the arm of the couch. It was only nine o'clock, but Doug considered that it must have been a tiring and eventful day for Tom from leaving the hospital to returning to his apartment for the first time in months.

Once the credits started rolling upward on the television screen, Doug lightly shook his partner's shoulder. Hanson's eyes fluttered open and he let out a wearied sigh.

"What'd I miss?" he asked and sat up, blinking several times to clear away the haze of sleepiness.

"Nothing. Just the last half of the movie."

"Geeze. Didn't think I'd doze off that long."

"Maybe you should turn in for the night."

"Yeah. I think I will. You stayin' here?"

"Do you need me to?"

"I don't _need _you to. But if you want, you can."

"Do you _want_ me to?"

Tom shrugged, attempting to appear more at ease with the idea of being alone than he really was. "I don't care either way, I guess."

"What would you be more comfortable with?"

There was a pause as Tom rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair once. "I'd like it if you stayed," he voiced quietly.

Doug slid his hand up his friend's back and massaged his neck tenderly. "Okay. It's no problem. I'll just crash out here on the couch."

"Alright. I'll get you some blankets-"

"Don't worry about it. I'll get 'em. You go ahead and go to bed."

With a nod, Tom struggled to his feet and headed for the bedroom. He began closing the door, saying, "G'night, Doug."

"Night, Tommy."

"I'm gonna leave this open a bit. I don't….I'll feel better if I do, knowing you're out here."

Doug smiled. "Okay."

Tom bit his lower lip and glanced at the floor apprehensively. "Okay," he repeated softly. "Good night."

"Good night."

Five minutes later, Doug saw the light go out in the bedroom. He sighed graciously and sprawled out on the sofa. After staring at the ceiling for awhile, he popped in another tape to watch and fell asleep an hour into the movie.

* * *

Even though he was a heavy sleeper, Doug was woken up numerous times during the night from hearing low moans and an occasional loud cry from Hanson's bedroom. For the first few occurrences, he got up and silently crept into the room to check on his partner. Hanson's head would be tossing back and forth, and his hands would bat at an imaginary attacker in front of him. Sweat glistened on his skin in the moonlight peeking through the window blinds near the bed. He never mumbled a coherent word; it was simply incomprehensible groans and whimpers, and Doug did not need anything to be said for him to have a good idea of what Hanson was dreaming of.

The first time he had entered the bedroom, he had spotted the teddy bear he had given Tom snuggled against the younger man's chest; the next two times he checked on Tom, the bear was on the floor beside the bed. He retrieved it and tucked it under Tom's arm both instances, smiling when Tom instinctively held it to him tighter.

Knowing that Tom had not woken up once from his nightmares, as far as Doug could tell, the older officer ceased peeking in on him and merely listened to the miserable sounds that came from the bedroom from his spot on the couch.

The obnoxiously noisy ring of the phone woke Doug up for good at eight in the morning. His eyes half-way open, he shuffled to the mini bar next to the kitchen and answered it.

"Hello?" he spoke lazily.

"Penhall? Is that you?" Fuller asked in a crisp voice, and Doug had no idea how anyone could be so awake so early.

"Yeah. Tom wanted me to stay over with him."

"How is he?"

"Fine, I guess. I mean, he's been able to get around okay and all. Just doesn't talk much."

"I see. Is he up?"

"No, I think he's still asleep. Why?"

"I wanted to wait a week or so to give him a little time to adjust back to reality, but the bosses downtown are demanding an immediate hearing about possible suspension."

"Suspension? What for? He didn't do anything wrong."

"I know. But it's not a surprise that they're removing him from the Jump Street program in the sense he won't be able to go undercover anymore."

"People will know his face."

"All that he'd be left to do is paperwork and filing, and they're not sure if they want him to do even that."

"Sounds like they just want to try and keep everything under wraps and not have to deal with him at all and what happened."

"It's a possibility. From the way I've heard some of those guys talk, it seems like they're blaming Hanson for all the bad press surrounding the department. There's even a rumor about a petition going around to get him off the force; no one wants to be around him or work with him due to their pre-conceived thoughts of him. No one seems very comfortable being around someone who's been a victim of some of the most heinous acts of abuse we've seen in a long time."

"Captain, he shouldn't be punished for what a bunch of pricks think about him. They're just afraid he'll ruin their masculinity," Doug spat hatefully. "They want to get rid of him because it wouldn't look good having a policeman who may or may not be a homosexual in peoples' opinions because of the sexual involvement he had with those guys. This is completely bogus! Compl-"

Doug cut himself off when he realized Tom was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, watching him with an expression of utter humiliation.

Swallowing hard, Penhall spoke quietly into the receiver, "Uh, captain, I have to go."

"Alright. Just get him here by ten-thirty."

"Okay. Bye."

He placed the phone back on the cradle and turned to face Tom, who was gazing off to the side with glassy-looking eyes.

"Hey, um," Penhall started carefully. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," Tom replied softly.

"Tom, I…."

"People really know? About me sleeping with those guys? Do they really know?"

The intense melancholy in his partner's tone made Penhall unable to talk for a moment. At last, he answered truthfully, "Yeah. People know."

Tom gave a bitter, sorrowful smile and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Tom."

"So you know too, then, huh?"

"Yeah. I know." Witnessing the hurt in Tom's eyes, he added, "You're still my best friend. It doesn't change anything."

"I don't believe that. I _can't_ believe that."

"Tom-"

"Can we just drop it? I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Tom-"

"What time am I supposed to be there for my suspension hearing?"

Doug sighed. "Ten-thirty."

"I'm gonna go get ready. Can you take me?"

"Yeah. Of course."

Before Doug could take two steps, Hanson slammed the bedroom door shut. Upon nearing the door, Doug would have sworn that Hanson was almost sobbing, causing the older officer to feel extremely guilty and sympathetic

* * *

The moment Hanson entered the main room of the chapel, practically everyone stopped what they were doing to turn and look. The many sets of eyes focused on him made him unnerved, even though he knew he had nothing to fear from these people. Observing such uncertainty in Tom's eyes, Doug stepped in front of him and stated in a somewhat firm manner, "Hey, um, back to work. Nothin' to see."

Receiving several kind grins and waves from people, Tom smiled back and felt relieved when everything went back to normal – people conversing with one another, talking on the phone, bustling about. Judy, Ioki, and Booker approached him, making him even more at ease.

"Oh Tom!" Judy greeted with an excited grin and hugged him. "It's so good to see you on your feet again! Welcome back!"

"Thanks, Jude. How's everything?"

"Good, good. We're all just really glad to see you."

She moved out of the way for Ioki to give him a friendly embrace and say "hello," followed by Booker doing the same.

"Consider yourself special, Hanson," he said with that familiar smugness in his expression after Tom mentioned how he never thought Booker was capable of performing such a genial gesture towards him. "What's with the outfit, though?"

The comment was referring to Tom's pants, which were a pair of formal black slacks. They lost their elegance, however, due to the sloppy job done on the right leg. The fabric was slit on the sides all the way up to mid-thigh, and the outer part was closed together by many safety pins from ankle to the top of the cut, providing the illusion that it had not been altered at all if Tom was looked at from the side or from the front a bit.

"Oh, um," Tom gave an embarrassed chuckle and answered, "My leg wouldn't fit in it because of the brace. I didn't want to cut off the fabric to make it like shorts. That'd look even more ridiculous."

"Nice choice. Makes you look like a bit of a punk," Booker replied with a humorous grin.

"Ha, ha, thanks. Well, before you guys can insult my appearance more, I gotta go find Fuller. Is he in his office?"

"Yeah. A couple of other people are in there too," Ioki said.

"Great," Tom voiced sarcastically. "I'll catch you guys later."

Having said their small goodbyes, the gang parted from one another, Doug and Tom trekking towards their superior officer's door, while Judy, Ioki, and Booker returned to their desks.

"I'll wait out here for ya," Doug said gently.

"You don't have to."

"What else am I gonna do?"

"Actual work." Tom smiled at the feigned offended expression Doug gave him. "Hopefully, this won't be too bad."

"Good luck, man."

Inhaling a deep breath, Tom turned the doorknob, hopped along inside, and shut the entrance behind him. Doug blew out a held breath and leaned against the wall.

"Don't let this hurt him more," he prayed.

* * *

The instant he heard the door start to open, Doug stood upright expectantly. Hanson came out, and from what Penhall could discern, he was clearly upset. He did not acknowledge the older officer at all, nor did he show any signs that he heard Penhall say his name. Determined to leave, he made his way as fast as his weak limbs would allow to the door of the chapel, which he exited from with Doug trailing behind him.

"Hey, Tom, what's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing. Can you just take me home?" The voice sounded defeated and distressed.

"Tom, stop." Doug blocked him from going farther and took hold of his friend's shoulders, gazing directly into the despaired, brown eyes. "What happened?"

"It doesn't concern you."

"Don't give me that. I'm your best friend. What concerns you – most of the time, it concerns me too."

"Not this time!" Tom exclaimed in a raised voice. "You're not the one being suspended in order to help 'clean up the department's negative image' it was christened with when I got myself kidnapped! You're not the one whose physical and mental conditions make you worthless to do even the simplest of tasks! Or-or-or accused of being a possible homosexual and therefore, can be fired for being one! It just wouldn't do, can't be allowed. Supposedly, the public's done a good job of making that apparent – that I don't deserve to be a cop anymore. I've got 'politically incorrect' written all over me, and I can't take it, Doug! I can't take it!"

As Hanson succumbed to angry tears, Doug embraced him lovingly. Hanson buried his face against the larger man's chest as he wept and merely stood lax while his partner worked on consoling him. They stayed that way until the exertion took its complete toll on Hanson's exhausted body. Doug carried him to the car and began the drive back to Hanson's apartment, neither saying anything at all the whole way.


	13. Chapter 16

A/N: Only a week! I'm good. :) Thank you all for the reviews! And for reading. This chapter is loaded with angst, so enjoy. XD

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Once they were inside Tom's apartment, the younger cop wasted no time going in search of what he wanted. He headed straight for the small kitchen area and began opening cabinets, inspecting each space until he finally came upon what he had been looking for. Doug could only watch as his friend took several large swigs from a bottle of what was most likely vodka. He could spot tears glistening on Tom's cheeks, yet he was not sure whether it was from emotion or the burning sensation the alcohol provided as it went down Tom's throat. When half of it was gone, Doug finally stepped in to intervene. He plucked the bottle from his partner's grasp, capped it, and stowed it back where it had been.

"I think that's enough for right now," he said gently, not wishing to sound like he was scolding or telling Tom what to do.

"Give it back," Tom voiced unsteadily.

"Come on, Tommy. You don't need it."

"Give it back!" he shouted wildly.

"Listen to yourself! I'm not gonna let you turn into some alcoholic! That shit isn't going to make anything go away!"

"Yes it will!"

"Maybe for awhile!"

"Long enough!"

They grappled with each other as Tom struggled to get the bottle down again. Doug was successful in blocking him and at last, he slung Hanson over his shoulder and hauled him to the couch with much protesting on the way. Knowing it was possibly inappropriate and most likely treating him like a child, Doug sat on the couch with Tom in his lap and held him firmly to prohibit him from going anywhere.

"Would you let me go?!" Hanson asked irately.

"Nope. Sorry. Not 'til I know this alcohol binge has ended."

"God damn it, Doug. I hate you."

"I can live with that since I'm only lookin' out for you."

With a submissive sigh, Tom replied in a softer tone, "Yeah, I know."

"Still hate me?"

"No." Hanson relaxed in his partner's embrace and rested his head on Doug's strong chest. The action thrilled Doug to no end.

"Wanna talk?"

"'Bout what?"

"How long you suspended for?"

"I believe the exact words were 'an undisclosed period of time,' but I already know I won't be accepted back. One month of paid leave, then who knows. What am I gonna do? I doubt anyone would hire me like this."

"If you need help, you know I'll always give you some money."

"Thanks, but I'll be okay."

"There's your mom too, right? She'd help you out."

"If she'd talk to me, she might."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Maybe you should call her."

"And say what? There's no excuse for what I did, Doug. I'm just another disappointment. Another atrocity."

"Don't say that. You're not. She still loves you."

"Really? 'Cause I've been thinkin' otherwise…."

The phone rang then, and Doug offered to get it; however, Tom declined and stood up to answer it himself. Penhall listened half-interestedly at the one-sided conversation, not particularly sure what was being discussed. One thing was certain, he knew – it was someone from the hospital.

After a few minutes, Tom returned to sit in his friend's lap and stared at his fiddling fingers.

"Who was it?"

"Doctor," Hanson responded, seemingly distracted. "Reminding me of my physical therapy session tomorrow afternoon. And to tell me I'm free of any STD's."

"That's good."

An indifferent shrug. "I guess. Won't know the results of the HIV/AIDS test before another month or so."

"Oh."

"I kind of hope it comes back positive," he muttered quietly, more so to himself.

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"Why?"

Another shrug. He did not feel like explaining himself at the moment.

"Tom, I'm really sorry."

"For what?"

"For….everything."

"Yeah."

And that was that. Penhall would not pry anymore to coax Tom to open up to him, and Tom seemed fine to remain absolutely silently on the subject of anything concerning his ordeal.

The next thirty minutes were spent in quiet, one casually commenting on something or other every now and then. They broke apart when Tom whimpered in pain and clutched at his head, causing Doug to get up and fetch a couple of large pills and a glass of water. Twenty minutes later, the medication had succeeded in knocking Tom out, leaving Doug to cover him lovingly with a blanket and watch over him as he slept.

* * *

When Hanson woke up, he glanced around for Doug, but found that the older male was not there. It was eerily quiet, and the fact he was alone made him anxious. He got to his feet and meandered over to the bar, hoping to find some sort of note from Doug telling where he went. There was nothing, causing him to feel as if his heart was sinking.

"Way to go, Hanson," he mumbled to himself. "Did this to yourself."

Sighing in frustration, he ventured into the kitchen and opened the cabinet closest to the fridge. The bottle of vodka was not there.

"Doug," he grumbled, irritated.

For a couple of minutes, he continued on investigating through drawers and cabinets until he found the half emptied bottle of liquor, along with a container of Jack Daniel's, tucked discreetly behind several dish towels.

"Forgot I had that."

Cautiously and unhurriedly, he lowered himself to the floor and set the bottles next to him.

"Which one first?"

His hand grasped the neck of the vodka glass container, opened it, and began downing the liquor.

* * *

Doug entered the apartment three hours after he had left Tom asleep on the couch. Fuller had called him in to discuss matters on a case he was on, and afterward, deciding it was not a bad idea, he hit the grocery store to pick up several things to stock Tom's food cabinets with.

The moment he stepped foot into the kitchen, the bags slipped from his grip to land on the floor in a scattered mess. Hanson was sprawled out on his left side, the bottle of half-full Jack Daniel's still loosely clutched in his hand. The vodka container, now empty, had rolled away to the other side of the area. He was very clearly unconscious, yet as Doug kneeled down beside him, he called his name anyway.

"Jesus, Tom," he whispered, prying the glass container away from Hanson's fingers. "Please don't do this. It'll get better, I swear."

Gingerly, he swept his partner up into his arms and took him to the bedroom, where he laid the limp body on the bed. Showing great affection, he ran his fingers several times through Tom's hair before trailing them down to his cheek. As his digits ghosted over the younger man's soft lips, he thought of the night when he had first tasted them, remembering how exhilarating it had felt. He smiled to himself while the images of him caressing and making love to Tom raced through his mind. Once that particular event had re-played in his head completely, his memory went back to the night he raped Hanson. Extraordinary guilt and self-loathing filled him, making him retract his hand from his partner's countenance. He could not continue touching the tranquil face; he knew he did not deserve to.

Doug was not sure how much time had passed before he heard a pitiful groan come from Tom, who slowly opened his eyes and rubbed his temples soothingly.

"Doug?" he asked hoarsely and made to sit up; however, he quickly decided against it, for it made his head throb unbearably.

"I'm here, buddy."

"I'm sorry."

Doug frowned and stared at him quizzically. "Sorry? For what?"

"For whatever I did to make you leave. I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything. I had to go settle some things about a case and then went to the grocery store. I'm sorry I didn't leave a note or something. I sort of forgot."

"No, it had to be something I did. It's always my fault."

"Tom, it was nothing like that. Nothing's your fault; you didn't do anything wrong, I swear."

"I was for sure you realized how stupid I am."

"Please don't say things like that, Tom."

"You don't have to stay."

"Yeah, I do," Doug replied tenderly, but sternly. "You don't have to go through this alone."

"Yeah, I do," Tom echoed, sounding somewhat agitated. "What would you know about any of it anyway?"

"I know a lot, okay?" Doug responded with a slightly raised voice. He recognized his slipup when Tom gazed at him in surprise. "I mean," he lamely began, though Tom cut him off.

"No. What do you know? There's no 'I mean' because you seemed pretty confident that you know something."

"Tom, I-"

"So what is it? I'd love to hear. What and how the hell do you know?" By this time, Tom had forced himself to sit up to stare directly at his friend.

"I don't…."

"Really? Because it sure sounded like you do."

"Just things I've heard, okay? Like, from Danny Benton. He's said a little. And then what happened when you came out of your coma at the hospital."

Tom swallowed hard at the mention of the teenager's name and of the reference to Derick and Travis humiliating him. "You….You don't know anything else, then?"

"No. Do you want to tell me some of what happened?"

"No! No. If I'm lucky, no one will ever have to know. _Ever_."

Hanson lied down once more, therefore missing the expression of deep melancholy present on Doug's face. He remained in his bedroom for the remainder of the night, leaving Doug to entertain himself out in the living room alone.

* * *

Tom knew he would have to be alone during most of the day when Doug returned to a regular schedule at work, but he did not think it would be so difficult to be without his friend as company. The TV was still out – neither had bothered calling the cable company to come repair it – and as the days ticked by, he grew tired of watching only movies. There was the radio to listen to and books to read, yet nothing could capture his attention for more than ten minutes. He could not drive because of his stiff brace – even if he _could_ take it off, he was prohibited from operating a car due to the various medications he was taking.

One afternoon while Doug was gone, Tom gave in and made to call his mom. He sat on the couch for some time with the phone in his hand, not moving. He began thinking up what he would say, how he wanted the conversation to go – all that was left was to drudge up the courage to actually call. After a silent five minutes, he dialed the number and hesitantly put the receiver against his ear. Part of him hoped there would be no answer, but the rest of him prayed she would pick up. It had been so long since he had heard her voice. It would be a chance for him to apologize to her.

"Hello?"

Tom frowned; the voice, a male's, on the other end was one he could not remember ever hearing before. "Hi, um, maybe I have the wrong number but, is Margaret Hanson there?"

"Yes; can I tell her who's calling?"

"Tom."

He heard the person put the phone down and waited anxiously. The first question he would ask his mother would be in regards to who he had just been talking to.

"Hello?"

"Hey, mom."

"Oh, hi, Tom," she replied blandly.

"Who was that?"

"Frank."

"Frank? Who's he?"

"He's the man I've been dating."

"Dating?" he asked with his eyebrows raised. "For how long?"

"A few months."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?"

"I didn't want to bother you with it. I know how you get whenever I find someone….someone who could be considered appropriate."

Tom ran his fingers through his hair before putting his elbow on the armrest to rest his head against his hand. He could envision the displeasure written on her face just from the tone in her voice. "Mom, please don't be like that," he sighed wearily.

"Like what? Tom, what you did was completely irresponsible and….sickening," she ended in a hushed tone.

"I know. And I called to say I'm sorry. I never meant to disappoint you. I'm sorry, mom."

"Good. But perhaps you should apologize to God for the sins you did."

"Would it make a difference if you knew who it was? What man I slept with for the first time?"

"I don't see how it could-"

"It was Doug."

"Your partner?!"

"Yeah. My partner. Now you know I wasn't completely irresponsible since it was with someone I know well, someone I _know_ who doesn't have anything to get infected with. It wasn't some random guy; it was a really good friend. Can you give me a little credit for that?"

"It doesn't make a difference, Tom. It's still unnatural and disgusting."

Tears had sprung to his eyes, though whether they were brought on by distress or anger, he was not sure. From what he remembered, his time spent in Doug's bed was far from disgusting; it was special and remarkable. The more he dwelled on the memory, the less shame he had for his mother to jab at to make him feel guilty. "Mom, I didn't call to get into an argument or confrontation or whatever this is. I called because….I miss you, mom. And if you could come over sometime – even just for five minutes – I'd really like that. I'm out of the hospital now, so it won't be as depressing a place as that room was."

There was a pause before she stated, "I have to go, Tom."

"Mom-"

"I'll talk to you again some other time."

"_Mom_-"

"Goodbye."

The line went dead, and Tom let the phone drop to the floor as he doubled over and surrendered to his tears.

* * *

It was seven o'clock at night when Doug returned to his best friend's apartment. He had stopped at his own on the way, picking up some clean clothes and shampoo.

"Tom? You up?" he questioned as he closed the apartment door behind him. There was not an answer, causing him to move around quietly in case the other man was asleep. He set down his duffle bag against the back of the couch and was a little surprised to find Tom stretched out on the piece of furniture. The young cop was dressed in only a pair of plaid boxers and was lying on his back, head resting on the pillow Doug had been using and hands splayed out on his chest and stomach. His brown eyes were more doleful than usual, staring with clouded grief at the ceiling.

"Tom?" the older officer spoke gently and went to kneel down in front of the couch. "What's wrong? Anything hurting?"

"I called her, Doug," Hanson murmured, the sound of melancholy thick in his voice.

"Who?"

"My mom."

"Oh. When?"

"Afternoon."

From the lack of words and saddened expression on his partner's face, Doug could tell whatever the conversation had been like was not a good one.

"She hates me."

"Did she say that?"

"She didn't have to. She could care less about me. Thinks I'm an abomination."

"Tom, what happened?"

"She brought up what I did, practically saying it's unforgivable. Said I was irresponsible. So, I told her it was you."

"Me what?"

"You were the guy I slept with the one time. I thought it'd show that I wasn't all that irresponsible since it wasn't like I was sleeping around with random guys, you know? That at least I knew you and knew I couldn't catch anything if that's what she was so worried about."

"What'd she say?"

"Said that it didn't make a difference. Then she said she had to go and hung up."

"Tom, I'm really sorry," Doug whispered with utter sincerity.

"Then I found that." He jerked his head to the side to bring attention to an opened envelope on the coffee table, never once averting his gaze from the ceiling.

"What is it?"

"Look for yourself."

Doug took it and pulled out the letter inside. He unfolded it, sympathy and rage welling within him from what was written in large, permanent marker letters on the paper.

_LEAVE NOW. NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE, FAG. MOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE. YOU'LL BE SORRY IF YOU DON'T._

Without a thought, Doug ripped the paper to shreds and stuffed the remains into the envelope.

"Don't you believe that, Tom," he said in a somewhat choked voice as he kept his emotions in check. "It's just some stupid punk."

"Yeah. Sure," Hanson responded distantly. "Maybe this is all a sign – that I should've died instead."

"No! That's not true. Don't even think that."

"I did something."

The casualness in which the sudden statement was said made Doug uneasy. "What did you do?"

"I hadn't done it since my dad died."

"What?"

"I hurt myself."

"Hurt yourself? How?"

Languidly, Hanson raised his arms, revealing red smears on his stomach and chest from the blood leaking out of the gashes along his forearms.

"Oh my god, Tom," Doug breathed, eyes wide. "What did you do?"

He rushed to the kitchen, wetted a couple of towels, retrieved some dry ones, and went back to his partner.

"Sit up," he instructed quietly.

Tom obeyed and held out his arms as Doug took a seat next to him. The older male pressed and held one of the water logged towels to the wounds on his partner's right arm and after a few minutes, he let it stay where it was and repeated the actions on the left.

"You mad at me?" Tom asked in a quivering voice, looking at his friend with fear in his eyes.

"No, I just….I'm sad. I don't understand. Why would you do this to yourself?"

Tom did not answer, and Doug did not press him to give one. Once the bleeding had stopped, a dry towel was securely wound about each arm. Stroking the feathery hair tenderly, Doug gazed at Tom's exhausted face, noticing how worn and aged he looked. Tom was still so young – he did not deserve to have such heavy burdens on him. Everything in Doug yearned to take all of them on for him, to make them vanish for Tom entirely to the point that the younger man would never have any recollection of the atrocities and horrors.

When he asked Hanson if there was anything he could do, he already knew what the answer would be. No, there was nothing. Not a thing. He was completely helpless to help his friend in any way. He was not sure Hanson would even _let_ him do anything.

For now, he would simply have to watch his friend deteriorate in front of his eyes, unable to do a thing about it.


	14. Chapter 17

A/N: Less than a week this time! And almost 2,000 words longer than usual! Enjoy the heavy angst. And thank you all for the kind reviews! Thanks for sticking with me. XD

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

The threatening notes did not stop as the days went on. In fact, they were becoming quite frequent. They would be in his mailbox slot on the first floor, outside his apartment door or taped to it. Among the innumerable harsh ones, there were a couple that expressed condolences and kind words, yet those letters were few and far between. The answering machine had become another way to taunt him. He hardly bothered to answer the phone now due to the numerous calls anonymous people made to curse at him, insult him, and dangle lewd proposals in front of him. Some afternoons, he would receive ten calls in only two hours, which he usually answered about three of those before he resigned to letting the machine pick it up. He never told Doug about all of these verbal harassments after witnessing how the older cop had reacted to the first note he ever received. It was not worth worrying his friend over it or causing any more trouble for Doug than he already was.

There was a change of demeanor in Tom that Penhall took notice of – something that struck a chord deep within Tom that was making him more sullen than he had been. The younger man seemed more on edge – alert – than normal and took to casting anxious glances at the closed apartment door. The occasional moments when he had been able to touch Tom, such as helping him in and out of the bathtub, were no longer; Tom vehemently refused to have physical contact whatsoever. He thought Tom was not talking much before, but now, it was as if he did not talk at all.

A night came when Doug made up his mind to snoop around in an effort to find what had suddenly caused the change in character of Hanson. The younger man was asleep in the bedroom, leaving Doug free reign of the living room. He searched through the desk drawers, the various items scattered on the bar, and the coffee table. Some odd feeling overcame him then, prompting him to investigate under the couch. At first, he did not know what to make of whatever was beneath it. Reaching out his hand, he grasped onto what felt like several envelopes and folded papers. He turned on the lamp next to the sofa by the window and sat down to determine what he had found. He was only able to read through four of the letters before he had to stop to gain control of his anger. There was no need to read anymore anyway; he knew they were most likely all the same with regard to how heartless they were.

_Officer Hanson,  
How about coming over to my place and blowing me away, if you catch my drift. Or better yet, how about I just keep you chained up here so I can fuck your tight little ass as much as I want, whenever I want. You must be good at lying on your back by now!_

--

_Hanson-  
Too bad they didn't kill you. I was really hoping what I saw was the real thing. Maybe someone will come finish the job…._

_--_

_T. Hanson-  
Scared yet? You should be. Better watch out. There are a lot of people out there who don't like cops. Or whores. Or fags. To be all three – you're just asking to have the shit beaten out of you. Just like what those other guys did to you._

_--_

_Tom Hanson,  
If I paid you cash, would you let me ride you all night? Oh wait – why pay when I can just make you? Everyone knows you're not the smartest or strongest of cops or of people for that matter. Enjoy your restful nights now; I'm sure someone will get you back to doing what you do best soon – letting some guy fuck you up the ass and crying like a bitch._

_--_

_Officer T. Hanson,  
Do the world a favor and go kill yourself. I'm sure if you can't do it, there's a bunch of others that will do it for you._

Noticing the flashing light on the message machine, Doug shuffled to it, rewound the tape, and played it. For those who did not send handwritten messages, they made up for it by leaving voice ones that were just as cruel and unforgiving, yet worse because the hatred and sadistic pleasure all of these people shared was plainly evident in their tones. Hearing such words spoken caused a great more deal of hurt than written ones.

"Jesus Christ," Doug muttered under his breath. "Poor Tom. No wonder he's acting like this."

The tiniest noise came from behind him, making him whirl around and stray away from the machine quickly. An exhausted looking Tom appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, hair standing out in all directions and nothing but a pair of boxers on. His posture was rigid, as if expecting some unsuspecting attack, and his eyes were alight with anticipation for such an occurrence. He was shivering and seemed as if he would faint any moment, but he gazed with such directness at his friend that made Doug unable to breathe for a brief period.

"Can't sleep?" Hanson questioned in an exceptionally soft voice. It was timid and uncertain, as if he believed someone else was in the room with Doug, hiding and listening.

"No, I….Guess I'm not tired enough. How come you're up?"

"Guess I'm not tired enough too. Thinking too much, maybe. You know how they say, if you have a lot on your mind…."

"Yeah. What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing. It's-it's not important. Nothing. Thought I'd, uh, just come out and see if you were asleep. So….and you aren't, I guess I'll just…." His jumbled words were spoken as if he was embarrassed, causing Doug to take a step closer to him.

"Hey, what's going on? You seem a little….flustered."

"Meds, maybe."

"What and how much did you take?"

"Can't remember." He bowed his head, sniffed, and his body shook a bit more than it had been.

"Tom?"

The younger man looked up after a pause, clear droplets now racing down his cheeks. "Doug," he was able to choke out and started toward the other officer.

Doug met him halfway, held out his arms, and hugged Tom snuggly against him. Tom latched onto him, clinging tightly as if he was afraid Doug would leave. He buried his face near the crook of the older cop's neck and wept openly. His body was so small, so fragile, so much more vulnerable than Doug had ever known that he feared he might crush Tom if he was not careful. But the way Tom clutched him, he knew Tom wanted to be held as close and securely as possible. He swayed them back and forth ever so slightly in a comforting manner, murmuring tender words into Tom's ear and hair whenever he placed loving kisses onto the top of Hanson's head.

Nothing was said other than Doug's affectionate whispers, and nothing had to be. There was a stunning power and connection that overwhelmed both of them, a strong bond they had not felt in a long time.

Time ticked by, and it was fifteen minutes before Hanson had gained control of his emotions and calmed down almost fully. They at last pulled away, and sheepishly, he stared at his partner with humiliation and defeat present in his dark eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, wiping his damp cheeks.

"Don't be. It's okay."

"Guess you probably want to go to sleep now, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. And you?"

A weak nod. "Yeah."

"Here, come on. I'll walk you back."

Leisurely, they strolled into the unlit bedroom, and Doug held up the sheets for Tom to get under. When he rested them down atop the young male, Tom abruptly sat up and stared at his friend with mild fretfulness.

"Could you sleep in here?" he asked in a rush. "I mean, you don't have to, but-"

Doug smiled and interjected, "I'd love to."

Tom gave a relieved, sweet smile in return and laid down once more while Doug went to the other side of the bed. Doug slid under the covers and refrained from taking his partner in his arms. Only if Tom made the first move would he touch him.

The silent delight that welled within him as Tom shifted toward him and curled up next to him was unlike anything Doug had ever felt before. A myriad of unspoken things were wrapped up into that one action. It showed Tom trusted him, needed him, cared about him, wanted to have him by his side, felt safe with him.

A thin arm came to rest upon Doug's stomach, and Tom's hand laid on his chest over his heart. He put his own arm around the other male and massaged his shoulder gently.

"Thank you," Hanson whispered sleepily.

Grinning with the utmost content, Doug closed his eyes and sighed. "You're welcome. I'll always be here for you."

* * *

Doug was woken the next morning by movement beside him, accompanied by short breaths and soft whimpers. He opened his eyes and worry instantly struck him. Tom was positioned on his hands and knees on the floor, head lowered as he vomited wretchedly. He was trembling and when Doug crawled onto the ground to be near him, he could see the younger man was very pale.

"Tom? You okay? What happened?" he inquired tenderly.

"Don't know," Hanson croaked between uneven breaths. "Had a bad dream….woke up…." He trailed off before he threw up once more. Doug averted his gaze for the few seconds it lasted. "And I couldn't make it," he continued, tears streaming from his eyes. "To the trash can or bathroom. I feel so weak, Doug. Like everything is drained out of me….Shit, I need to clean this up."

"Don't worry about it; I'll do it."

Doug offered to help Tom back onto the bed to lie down, though Tom kept him away at arm's length, mumbling something about him not wanting Doug to see what happened. Less than a minute passed when Hanson could no longer hold himself up, causing him to lean back to sit against the bed. He was glistening with sweat and shook uncontrollably. Surveying his partner, Doug felt as if it were his fault that Tom was in such a state; it all went back to if he had gotten to Hanson before things turned utterly vicious at the hands of Danny Benton….

A darkened spot on the younger man's boxers caught his attention, and he did not have to think long on what it was from. Hanson followed his gaze and closed his eyes in mortification.

"I couldn't make it," he wept, sounding like a child apologizing for doing something wrong. "I didn't mean to."

"Hey, it's okay. We'll get you cleaned up. I'm gonna go start the water for a bath, alright?"

The distraught male nodded, making Penhall smile compassionately before getting up and heading to the bathroom. He turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, and plugged the drain. Minutes later, he was carrying his friend into the room and sat him on the toilet cover.

"I'm sorry, Doug," Hanson said pitifully. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's okay, Tommy. It's not your fault. Happens all the time to other people. Just can't control it sometimes. Nothing to be ashamed about."

"God, I can't believe this. I'm so pathetic."

"Shhh….Don't say that."

"You probably think I'm so helpless and appalling. I'm ruining your life; I know."

"You're not; that's ridiculous. You could never ruin my life. I like taking care of you, Tom. You're my friend, my partner – I'm always here for you to do whatever you need. And you're….beautiful, Tom. You'll never be anything _but_ that. Okay?"

Not desiring to put up a fight, Hanson nodded.

"Okay. Let's get these off of you then you can get in."

Tom stood and blushed in extreme embarrassment and humiliation as Doug pulled down the wet boxers. They were put in the sink for the moment while the older cop went ahead with guiding Hanson's right leg into the protective water cover and aided him down into the tub.

"Do you still feel sick? Do I need to get you a bowl or something?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"I'll just go take off the bed sheets and throw these in with them into the washer."

"I can do that. You don't have to. You've already done so much."

"I want to. And I don't want you exerting yourself too much."

"Thanks, Doug. And I'm really sorry."

"Hey, don't be. It's all good."

He flashed Tom a kind smile and strolled into the bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind him. There was a darkened circle on the sheet were Tom had been sleeping, and now, Doug could smell the unpleasant odor. He sighed, ran his fingers through his hair, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Tom….I'm so sorry they're still hurting you."

Approximately five minutes later, he was in the elevator, riding down to the basement to start a load of laundry.

* * *

Resting back against the end of the tub, Tom closed his eyes, exhaled a quaking breath, and combed his hair once with water drenched fingers. To say he was embarrassed about Doug knowing what happened was an understatement; he was absolutely horrified. He _never_ had this sort of incident when he was a child. Though this time occurred under certain circumstances – a realistic nightmare and tremendous nausea from the pills he had taken – he was afraid it could become a problem in the future.

"Jesus, Tom. You're so stupid," he quietly scolded himself. "Stupid. What sort of grown man wets the fucking bed? Jesus Christ. What is wrong with you?"

He wiped away the impending tears bitterly and maneuvered to where he could open the bottom drawer of the sink's cabinet. The exhilarating tingles started pulsing through him as he retrieved the concealed knife. It made sense in his mind, to keep it there because the bathroom would be the only place he would do this self-mutilation. Easier to clean up and not leave a trace.

Positioning the blade just right, his inner left thigh fell victim to the sharp object this time.

* * *

For half an hour, Doug studied his partner from his seat at the bar. Hanson was sitting motionless on the sofa, staring ahead at the blank television screen. Not a single word had been exchanged between them once Tom was finished bathing and put a t-shirt and boxers on. It was not awkward between them, but it was not completely comfortable either; Doug could not define it. There were things he wanted to say, like repeating his reassurances, yet he knew Hanson would not want to "hear" any of it.

The phone abruptly rung, startling both of them a little. Doug instinctively went for it, though was strongly advised not to from the tone in Hanson's voice saying, "Don't answer that!"

"Why?"

"Just….don't."

"What if it's someone important?"

"It's not."

Demonstrating as much stealth as he could, Doug ventured toward the phone on the small table at the end of the sofa in front of the window.

"I swear to god, Doug," Tom spoke dangerously, not even looking at the other man. "If you answer that, we're no longer friends."

"Bit harsh, don't you think?"

"I'm serious."

"Tom-"

"Don't!"

After one more ring, the message machine took the call, and Doug realized Hanson must have turned the volume entirely down because there was no sound coming from it when it was clearly evident someone was leaving a message. Once the tape stopped clicking and making noise, Doug rounded the couch and sat next to his friend.

"What the hell was that about?" he asked gently.

"Nothing. It's….Probably a telemarketer. They've been calling a lot lately."

A beat passed between them before Doug decided he would confront Tom. "Is it because you're worried it's another guy calling to antagonize you?"

Tom sharply turned his head to gaze at the older cop. "How do you know about that?"

"I listened to the messages last night. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to bother you with it. I can handle it on my own."

"But you don't have to."

"Yes, I do, okay?" Tom replied sternly, voice quivering slightly.

"And the hate mail?"

"Yes, that too! It's my problem, okay?! You can't help me! You don't get it!" Frustrated, he combed his fingers through his hair and bowed his head. "How do they even know? How do they fucking know? It doesn't make sense."

"I have an idea. Maybe you should come stay at my place for a few days. Get away from all of this."

"Thanks, but I don't want to be a hassle to you in your own apartment."

"You won't be."

There was a knock on the door, and although Tom expressed his desire for Doug to stay on the couch, the older male followed him to answer it. When Tom opened the door, no one was present, but there was an obvious sign that was left to show someone had indeed been there.

In vibrant red spray paint, the word "FAG" was written on the door, along with "GET OUT!" under it.

"Damn it!" Tom shouted angrily, rapidly losing his composure. He slammed the entrance shut and stood against it, desperately attempting to ward off the urge to break down and cry. "Leave me alone," he whispered miserably.

"Tom?" Doug dared to take a step closer and was relieved when Tom did not push him back. "I think it's time you took a leave of absence from this place."

Tom nodded after a moment and wiped his eyes.

"You wanna go tonight?"

Gazing at his partner with resignation etched in his dejected features, Hanson nodded again. "Yeah, tonight."

* * *

"I know you can't go up stairs very well, so is the couch okay?"

Tom nonchalantly glanced about the large space, smiling shyly as he remembered the night he had last been in Doug's apartment….

"Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"You cool with sleeping on the couch?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Alright. I'll make it up for you."

The older officer scurried off to find some clean bed sheets, while Tom slowly began to wander about the area. He was able to get to the far window before his feet and knee started making their extreme discomfort heavily known. Grimacing and hissing quietly with every step, he went to one of the sofas in the middle of the room and eased himself down onto it, propping his right leg up on a pillow. Doug came back a couple of minutes later carrying a few different folded sheets and set two on the armrest of the couch opposite of where Tom was.

"Hey Doug?"

"Yeah?" He shook out the first linen numerous times to unfold it and get rid of any thing that might have been on it.

"How do people know?"

"Know what?"

"About some of the things that happened. You wouldn't tell anyone about stuff that happened at the hospital. Judy and Harry wouldn't either, even Booker wouldn't, I think."

Not feeling that he could face Tom without telling him how people really found out, Doug kept his back to the younger man as he went about tucking in the sheet around the cushions. "Yeah, you're right."

"It doesn't make sense….I guess Danny could've bragged about it all to his friends and having it spread that way."

"True."

"I'm not, you know," he suddenly stated softly, sounding a bit ashamed.

"Not what?"

"I'm not a whore. A slut. Whatever you want to call it."

The cruel words made Doug turn around then to gaze at his partner sympathetically. "I know," he replied equally as quiet.

"It's not like I was….I mean….Yeah, I….had sex with them a few times, but I'm not….I didn't…." He lowered his head to rest on his hands, sighing heavily.

Sensing his friend's severe inner distress, Doug moved to sit down next to him. "Hey, it wasn't your fault. And you're right; you're not a whore or slut. You're none of those things that people are calling you."

"I'm not gay. Just because I slept with them doesn't mean I am. I like women."

"I know. You don't have to defend yourself to me."

"Just wish my mom could understand that."

Doug wrapped his arm around Tom and brought the smaller man to lean against him. There was no protest, though Doug hardly expected one now. Tom's emotions were like a hilly rollercoaster; he could spend days at the peak of hysterics and fear before falling to submission and dismal acceptance of his current state and status.

Though it made him feel exceedingly guilty, Doug could not help feeling as if Tom was taking him down alongside himself into a hole of depression to join him at the bottom. He knew it was not an option to leave his partner to deal with these despicable consequences by himself, yet it was achingly becoming apparent that Doug wished he could. The toll it was taking on his own emotions was getting higher and higher every time Tom succumbed to a bout of deep despair.

But abandoning Tom was out of the question. He would not, _could_ not, do it…._Yes, you could_ a tiny voice tempted from the back of his mind….

* * *

That night, Hanson barely slept. He kept shifting about to find new positions to lie in, never quite satisfied with each one. From the second level, he could vaguely hear Doug snoring, and he had to admit that the noise was sort of soothing.

At last, he fell asleep just as the tiniest bit of sunlight started peeping through the blinds. Doug discovered this when he came down at eight-thirty to fix a bowl of cereal. He attempted to be as quiet as he could while getting around for work, and after he was entirely ready, he simply sat on the other sofa and watched Hanson sleeping. This time, the younger male was perfectly tranquil, not showing any signs of having any sort of negative dreams.

"Good," he whispered. "Thank god. I'll see you later, Tommy," he murmured and was on his way out of the apartment.

* * *

A knock on the door woke Hanson five hours later. Still in a bit of a haze from sleep, he struggled to stand and slowly made his way to answer it. It was obvious Doug was not home due to his absence from getting the door. No matter; he told himself he did not need Doug with him twenty-four/seven, despite feeling otherwise.

Upon opening the door, he was taken aback at the sight of the person – a woman, gorgeous blonde hair and face, tall and lean, and an incredible smile. Hanson stared, mouth open, not knowing what to say.

"Oh, um, hi," she greeted, evidently caught off-guard.

"Hi," he replied, seemingly awestruck.

"Is Doug here?"

"Doug? No, he's not. Um, do you want to leave a message?"

"No, that's fine. I'll just call or come back later. Thanks."

"Sure thing."

Unhurriedly, he shut the door and made his way back to the couch. It was a wonderful thing to see such a beautiful woman, but as he thought on why she would show up at Doug's doorstep, his heart sank.

Doug had a girlfriend, a relationship.

It struck him harder than he expected because for some reason, he could hear his partner's voice in the back of his head telling him he wanted to spend his life with him, that he loved him. He could not recall when Doug had said it or if he ever had. Either way, he felt betrayed and broken hearted; for this, he verbally chastised himself angrily and stretched out on the cushions on his back.

_Why does it matter so much? _

* * *

It was ten-thirty when Hanson heard a key in the lock. He had been wondering anxiously about where Doug was, and once the other man stepped inside, Hanson found out why Doug was so late. There she was, behind Penhall, the woman from earlier. He sank back down onto the couch to be out of sight, listening to the two speak in low tones, an occasional laugh, and the sound of kissing. His expression twisted into one of jealousy and disappointment. Was this any better than staying at his own apartment? Hearing his partner getting intimate with someone else and feeling highly inadequate in turn? He suspected Doug had forgotten he was there, for the older cop did not call his name to see where he was; instead, he took his date up to the second floor after turning all the lights off. The only one left on was a small lamp up by Doug's bed.

"He's drunk," Tom muttered to himself. It was the best excuse he could come up with for his friend's behavior and lack of remembrance. "Just drunk."

It was ten minutes before he heard the first soft, pleasurable moan. Immediately, he felt angry, saddened, and hot. There was no use denying he was getting turned on merely from the blissful noises, imagining Doug in bed with another. With _him. _

Maybe they were trying to be quiet, but Hanson did not see what difference it made. He was upset either way.

His face burned with resentment whenever he heard the woman speak Doug's name or whenever Doug groaned hers. It had been his name once; _he_ had been the one who had supplied Doug with such rapture. Now, it was like it had never happened. He felt more hideous and worthless than ever. Of course Doug did not want him; he was certainly nowhere near attractive or good enough for anyone, especially Doug.

"That's what you get for sleeping around, Tom," he sighed sorrowfully. "You deserve it."

Once he heard them start again, he could no longer hold it in. With the sounds of ecstasy filtering down from above to fill his ears, Tom cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Hushed voices were the first things that reached him when Hanson woke up the next morning. They came from the kitchen, and his curiosity had him getting up silently and creeping toward the far room. He paused just outside the doorway and kept to the side, out of sight. It did not take him long to distinguish what the conversation was about.

"You've been taking care of him for awhile now, Doug. Don't you think it's about time you started looking after yourself? All your time is taken up by him."

"I know. But I can't leave him."

"Is it because you still blame yourself? Look, whether it was your fault or not, you've paid plenty of your time to him. You're not indebted to him."

"You don't understand. He needs me."

"Does he? Or are you the one that needs him?"

"No. I don't need him to feel better about myself, if that's what you're getting at. I can stop taking care of him whenever I want."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Then go ahead. He's recovered well enough; it seems like he would be fine. And you can finally have some time to yourself again."

"Yeah, that would be nice."

"Time for us. It'll be great not having to share you with someone else."

"I'm sure," he murmured before he leaned forward and kissed her.

Hanson did not bother listening to the rest. It was true; he was a burden to his best friend. To everyone.

Not having brought anything other than a few clothes, he did not bother gathering any of them up as he left without a sound. Heading out the door, he strictly told himself he did not need Doug.

He could find his own way home. To some place where he would not be an unwanted responsibility and nuisance.

Alone. Again.


	15. Chapter 18

A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone! Like always, I appreciate your feedback a lot; I love reading your reactions. Poor Tommy, for sure. XD

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

"Where to?" the cabbie asked unenthusiastically once Tom was in the car and had the door shut.

"Um….To….Can you drive around a little?" The truth was he could not remember where his apartment building was in relation to Doug's.

"Sure. It's your money."

As the vehicle began meandering down various streets, Tom kept his eyes focused out the window for anything that looked familiar. He had been so sure he did not need Doug, that he could handle things on his own, but the fact that he could not remember where he lived made him nervous and afraid. His mind was preoccupied with various thoughts bouncing around in it that he completely missed what the cab driver had said.

"I'm sorry?" Tom stated, waiting for the man to repeat himself.

"I said you look familiar. I know I've seen you somewhere before."

"Oh, sure. Can't say that I remember seeing you anywhere."

After a slight pause, the older man with graying hair snapped his fingers and nodded knowingly. "I know now. You're that guy-"

"Turn here!" Tom suddenly exclaimed, the street name having sparked a connection in his mind.

A mile later, the cab parked in front of the familiar building, causing Tom to breathe a sigh of relief.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Fifteen bucks."

Tom searched the pockets of his sweat pants, but found nothing but a five dollar bill. "I only have this," he said sheepishly and handed the money to the driver. "Is there some other way I can pay the difference? An I.O.U. or something?"

The man smirked and turned to stare at Tom directly, which made the younger male uncomfortable due to the seemingly pleased and power-hungry emotions in the piercing eyes. "I think we can make an arrangement."

* * *

When he had finished speaking to Dianna in the kitchen, Doug strolled into the living room, almost having completely forgotten he had asked Hanson over. Expecting to see the younger cop still asleep on the couch, he was entirely surprised when he found the space to be vacant. He called his friend's name and searched the apartment quickly, and Dianna came out of the kitchen to see what was going on.

"What's wrong?" she asked as Doug hurriedly put on a pair of tennis shoes and a jacket.

"Tom. He's not here."

"Well, maybe he just went home."

"He may not even _know_ where home is! I have to go find him. I don't want something to happen to him."

Without another word, Doug was out the door, closing it hurriedly behind him.

* * *

Doug checked every possible route to Hanson's apartment, but did not spot the young officer at all. Finally, he simply headed to his friend's apartment and took the stairs up to the third floor two at a time. When he approached Hanson's door, a piece of paper was taped to it with "FAG WHORE YOU'RE DEAD" written on it. Angrily, he ripped it off, tore it up into pieces, and knocked loudly. There was no answer for a minute or so, and as he was about to knock again, the entrance opened, making Doug frown heavily. It was not Hanson; that much was obvious. This man was taller, older, had a slightly bigger build, and had a little bit of facial hair growing. He was in decent shape from what Doug could tell, seeing as how the man was holding his shirt in his hand as he fastened his belt.

"Who the hell are you?" Doug questioned heatedly.

"No one," the male responded, putting on his shirt. "Just leaving. You up next?"

"Up next?"

"He's better looking in person. And so damn easy to overpower. You'll have fun with him."

Before Doug could say anything more, the man was brushing past him toward the stairs. In a daze of confusion, Doug entered and spoke his partner's name, walking to the bedroom as he did so. He had a good idea as to what the stranger was referring to, though did not want to believe it. When he arrived at the bedroom doorway, his heart sped as a wave of jealousy and anger crashed over him. Hanson was putting on a pair of boxers, followed by a t-shirt. The bed sheets were in complete disarray, and it was plainly evident now what had happened.

"Tom, who the hell was that?" Penhall inquired, trying to keep his tone even.

Hanson abruptly glanced up in surprise, not having heard Doug come in. "Who was what?"

Upon seeing Hanson's countenance, Doug was taken aback for a second. There were a few light bruises on his cheeks and neck. Deciding against commenting on it, he simply asked, "Who was that guy I just passed coming out of here?"

"Oh, um….No one. He's no one." Hanson got to his feet, retrieved his crutches, and went by Doug into the living room.

"No one? So you _do_ just fuck random guys then, is that it?"

Hanson spun around, hurt blooming in his expression. "Why would you say that?"

"Because that's what you did, wasn't it? Slept with him?"

"You don't understand. I-I had to."

"Had to?"

"I didn't have enough to pay the cab faire, so….he said….if I had sex with him, let him slap me around a little bit, he'd consider it paid," he ended quietly, a hint of shame in his voice. "No big deal," he added unconvincingly with a shrug.

Doug squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and made an attempt to keep himself in check. "Jesus Christ, Tom," he sighed.

"I didn't have a choice. I didn't have any money-"

"I could've given you money!"

"I don't want your money!" Tom shouted back. "I can take care of myself! I don't need you!"

"Really? You think that?" Doug asked in a low, frustrated tone.

"Why don't you just go back to whatsername? God knows I've been selfish in keeping you away from her."

"Tom-"

"Just go! Shut up and go!"

Doug worked hard on holding himself back from hitting something, like Tom, and moved to the door. He paused for a moment after opening it and faced the younger man.

"Fine. You wanna be a prostitute, go ahead," he spat venomously. "See if I care. See if _any_one cares. Guess those people were right then, huh? You _are_ a whore."

Tom visibly swallowed and blinked away tears. "You don't mean that," he murmured in a soft, trembling voice. "You can't think that."

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't. So when's your next client due? How many tricks do you have lined up for today, Tommy?"

"Doug-"

"They coming to fuck you in your own bed? How much are you charging?"

A clear droplet flew down Tom's cheek. "Doug-"

"Don't make it too much. People already know what you're like. And they know you're not worth much, judging by what they've seen."

Doug slammed the door closed behind him. Hanson merely stood where he was, gazing at where his partner had been, and wept shamefully.

* * *

"_Doug, it's me….again. Tom. Please, just answer the phone. Look, I'm sorry. How many times do you need to hear it? Okay, just….call me back when you get this. Anytime. You know where I'll be. Bye."_

--  
_"Hey, it's, uh, me again. Call me back."_

_--  
"Doug, this is getting ridiculous. Would you just call me back? Please? Bye."_

There was a total of six messages left by Tom on Penhall's answering machine. Doug had been very tempted to unplug the phone from the wall, as well as the answering machine, but his conscience would not let him. He knew he had gone too far, saying the spiteful things he had. If anything, _he_ was the one who should be calling Tom constantly to apologize.

Two days after their fight, Doug was on his way to Tom's apartment late in the evening. His nerves were bouncing around like jelly beans inside him, and he constantly went over what he would say. Taking a deep breath, he leisurely raised his hand and with slight hesitation, knocked on the door. The sudden thought of what Tom might possibly be doing beyond the threshold caused Doug's stomach to churn. It was due to great jealousy and possessiveness, he knew, and he felt foolish for it because Tom had not shown any desire to be anything but a friend.

After a brief period, the entrance opened, making Doug exceedingly anxious. Would Tom start yelling? Hit him? Slam the door in his face?

None of those scenarios happened.

Instead, Tom merely rubbed the back of his neck, as was his tendency at times, and stepped aside. The older officer took the invite and strolled into the apartment. He casually looked his partner up and down, smiling a little at the fact that Tom was wearing the hoodie he had leant him at the hospital. The smaller man also wore a pair of gray sweatpants with the right pant leg slit up to his thigh. His brown hair was damp as if he had taken a bath not long ago, and the bruising made by his "client" was almost gone.

For several minutes, they stood near the closed door in awkward silence. Neither made eye contact with the other or ventured to be the first to speak. However, after a couple of minutes and unable to take the quietness any longer, Tom asked softly, "You, um, wanna watch a movie with me?"

Doug looked up and was somewhat astonished to see gentleness and remorse in his partner's rich, brown eyes. "Uh," he cleared his throat apprehensively and answered, "Yeah, that'd be nice."

In a little bit of a daze, Doug followed Tom into the living room and sat down beside him on the sofa.

"It's nothing special," Tom explained as he pushed "play" on the VCR remote. "Just something I used to watch all the time when I was a kid. Kind of embarrassed about it, actually," he stated with a small laugh. "But it makes me feel better most of the time."

"What is it?"

"_One Hundred and One Dalmations._"

Doug gave a chuckle. "I liked it a lot too, don't worry."

Thirty minutes into the film, it was apparent Tom was growing drowsy. He curled up on his side, facing the television, and closed his eyes every now and then.

"When did you take your meds?" Doug had inquired.

"Just a couple of minutes before you came over."

Witnessing the tiredness of his partner, Doug began to feel sleepy as well. The innumerable restless nights were at last catching up with him; he could not remember the last time he had had an immensely great, undisturbed sleep.

"Hey," Tom voiced quietly.

"What?"

"You wanna lie down?"

"Sure."

Tom shifted onto his back, parted his legs, and held his arms out in a welcoming gesture. "Come here."

"You sure? I can just move to the other couch."

"No, it's fine. I, uh….I'd like it if you laid here with me."

Doug's heart melted at the words, and he smiled happily. Once his shoes were off, he carefully maneuvered between the younger man's legs and eased himself down to rest atop Tom, his head cushioned by Hanson's chest. Thin arms enveloped him affectionately, and delicate fingers started combing through his hair.

This was how things were supposed to be. This was what Doug truly longed for. Simple perfection. Innocent intimacy.

The rise and fall of Hanson's chest was comforting, lulling him to sleep ever so slowly. He knew when Tom had slipped away into his subconscious, for the other man's breathing became long and even and slender fingers stopped midway through his hair, leaving his hand to cradle Doug's head to him.

Doug was able to remain awake just long enough to see the start of the credits scrolling up the television screen.

* * *

It was one-thirty in the morning when Doug woke up. Hanson's body was still serving as his cushion, causing him to cautiously sit up without making much movement. The instant his eyes gazed at Hanson's tranquil visage, the familiar feeling of unbelievable giddiness and love swelled within him. To him, it was as if Tom was becoming more and more beautiful every time he looked at him. It made it all the more difficult to restrain himself from touching his partner inappropriately, or more seriously, to repress his urges to rip Tom's clothes off him and make love to him right then and there.

With care, Doug stood and scooped the younger man up into his arms. Tom did not stir whatsoever as he was carried to his bedroom and laid out on the bed. He eased Hanson's legs under the sheets and brought the covers up to his waist.

"There you go, buddy," Doug whispered.

He observed Hanson silently for numerous minutes before deciding he should leave. He made it to the door, but was abruptly stopped by a weary voice.

Turning around, he asked in a whisper, "What is it, Tommy?"

"Where you going?"

"I was gonna go home."

"Can't you stay? In here?"

"Yeah, of course."

Tom rolled onto his side as Doug moved under the covers next to him. For a time they stared at one another, exchanging unsaid apologies. The guilt Doug had was so overwhelming and his desire to convey his utmost regret for saying what he had was so extreme, he had no idea what was happening until the last possible moment.

Tom's lips were smooth, his mouth warm and supple as he kissed Doug. It was timid and controlled; he did not want to get carried away anytime soon. Or so he thought. Doug's hand stroked his cheek, and he was left practically breathless. With tremendous willingness, he let the stronger cop guide him to lie on his back and gave a tiny moan as Doug moved over him, straddling his waist. He trembled when large hands inched beneath his sweatshirt and rubbed up and down his torso. From the previous time, Doug remembered a spot where Tom loved to be touched. His fingers ghosted over the younger man's nipples to caress and fondle, causing Tom to squirm a little and emit a shaky whimper of pleasure. The reaction brought a satisfied grin to Doug's lips and sent bolts of excitement running through him to his hardening cock.

The feel of Tom's mouth was intoxicating; he had forgotten how good his partner tasted. And kissed. Time ticked by unnoticed as they kissed slowly, passionately, devotedly. Hands became re-familiarized with one another's body, and it was only when he felt Tom starting to unbutton his jeans that he pulled away.

Tom's face and eyes were glistening with tears, and his expression was now one of confusion and embarrassment. He absently let his hands fall to his sides from where they had been on Doug's jeans and stared at him anxiously.

"What's wrong?" he breathed heavily.

"I….I can't do this, Tom." The wet streaks on his friend's visage and gazing down at him harshly reminded him of what he had done to Tom in the past. It felt horribly wrong to even come close to having sex with Tom when the younger man had no recollection of the humiliating event.

"Why?"

"I just….I can't. I'm sorry." He crawled off of Tom to sit at the edge of the bed, bowed his head, and sighed. "I'm sorry, Tom."

Sitting up himself, Hanson inquired helplessly, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No….no, it's not you. I think I should go."

"Doug, don't," he pleaded weakly as his friend began shuffling to the door. "Please stay. Please."

After a pause, Doug exhaled a held breath and gave a slight nod. "Okay. I'll be out here on the couch."

He left Tom's bedroom door cracked open and made himself comfortable on the sofa. There was a nagging realization that would not go away now, and he knew he had to take care of it soon.

"Perhaps it's time you know about what everybody saw," he muttered dejectedly.

He did not sleep well at all the rest of the night.

* * *

Doug was fully awake by nine and heard the water begin to run in the bathroom, signaling that Tom was up too. In an effort to start the day off in a bright mood, for it would grow dark real quick later, he strolled into the kitchen to find materials he could use to make breakfast. He settled on making over-easy eggs, toast, and of course, coffee. While searching through the cabinets and fridge, he saw a couple of bottles of vodka, scotch, and other liquor; some were halfway empty, and the others were pretty much full.

"Tom," he sighed sadly.

He made a mental note to do away with them later. Right now, his focus was on getting breakfast done before Tom came into the living room.

Suddenly, a muffled, though noisy _thump_ sounded from somewhere in the apartment. Immediately, he raced to the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain. Tom was lying motionless in the tub, his head cocked to the side, chin resting on his chest. His wet bangs obscured his face, yet Doug did not have to see it to know he was unconscious. There was a trail of blood trickling down the bathroom tile, which pooled behind his neck. The water still rained down on him from the showerhead, rinsing away some of the red substance. Doug shut it off, knelt beside the tub, and brushed the dripping strands of hair back from Tom's countenance.

"Tom? Tom, open your eyes. You need to wake up." Upon not receiving any sort of response, he muttered in frustration, "Shit. Damn it."

He glanced around and grabbed the nearest towel to put beneath his partner's head. Not caring that Tom was completely drenched with water or nude, he lifted him out of the bathtub and took him to lie on the bed. To show a bit of decency, he used a blanket to cover the younger man's bare frame from the waist down. Settling himself on the bed, he raised his friend's head to rest in his lap and held the towel in place behind it.

"Tommy, come on. Wake up, buddy."

Tenderly, he caressed Hanson's forehead and continued to speak to him. From what he could infer, Hanson had decided to take a shower instead of a bath, grew dizzy from either his meds or from standing on his feet too long, and passed out, hitting his head on the wall as he collapsed.

After thirty minutes or so, Tom let out a feeble groan and unhurriedly opened his eyes. He was met with the sight of Doug's worried face peering down at him. It was evident that Doug was saying something, but it was nothing but an incoherent echo for a handful of seconds.

"Tom?"

"What happened?"

"You fainted in the shower. Banged the back of your head pretty hard on the way down. What were you doing taking a shower anyway?"

"Wanted to try it. Thought I'd be okay to stand. Guess not. Took a couple of pills before getting in too that made me light headed. God damn, it hurts."

"You have to stay awake, make sure you didn't get a bad concussion. I can get you some ice to hold against it if you want."

"Maybe. Shit, it hurts."

"Just stay still. It'll probably be a good thing if you stayed lying down for awhile."

_Maybe it's not a good idea to show him today…._

An hour passed before Doug went ahead and let Tom fall asleep. In the quietness, he gazed at Hanson with a sense of protectiveness in his eyes. As he inspected the other man's body, it was plain to him that Hanson was still quite fragile. Bruises remained, albeit tremendously faded, to add undignified color to the pale skin. Scars from burns lingered like dots on a map, marking the places where he had been used as an ashtray and as just something to hold a lighter to in order to supply him pain. Though he had been eating, Doug now realized the meals were not much or were few and far between, judging by the thinness of his skin, his sunken abdomen, and how clearly defined his ribs were. His fingers healed in awkward positions with swollen knuckles, never having been corrected completely after being broken and dislocated. His left wrist seemed off as well, though was healing relatively nicely. The brace swallowed his right leg and would continue to for another six weeks or more. His toes reflected his fingers, swollen and a tad out of place, and his ankles had gruesome scars around them and appeared a bit inflated; it made him look as if he would be off balance. There were marks all over his body, some small enough to miss if one was not looking for them, and Doug could hardly remember what his partner looked like without such flaws when he had personally seen Tom's naked body.

Then there were the disfigurements Tom had purposefully made himself. Jagged lines like uncovered veins adorned his arms and thighs and, Doug could not believe it at first, on the top side of his penis. The possible, and logical, reason for this that Doug could think of was: the cuts served as a way for Hanson to punish himself for getting an unwanted erection during some of the times the five males had molested and raped him. There was so much anguish written on the outside, yet it barely compared to the agony Tom was dealing with mentally.

Doug did not know he had dozed off for awhile until Tom made a soft noise and opened his eyes. He gave his friend a little smile and brushed his fingers against Tom's slightly flushed cheeks.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," he murmured gently.

"Hey there, Prince Charming."

"How you feelin'?"

"Not so hot."

"Can I get you anything? I was gonna make some eggs and toast before I heard you fall."

"Mmm, that sounds good."

"Yeah? You want me to go ahead and whip some up?"

"That'd be great."

Doug made sure Tom was comfortable before leaving the room. He wandered to the kitchen, glancing at the computer sitting on the desk at the corner of the room on his way. How should he go about it? And when? He was not sure he had it in him anymore, to be the one to break the news to Hanson. But he knew his luck would run out sometime, and he did not want his partner to be blindsided with the footage or stories of his imprisonment.

"Okay, Doug," he muttered to himself. "Just get it over with. Today. No later than today."

* * *

There had been several times when Doug tried to gather up the courage to bring the truth to light, but he could never get enough to do it. They played a few games of cards and watched a couple of movies; Tom's medication would knock him out every couple hours, leaving Doug to entertain himself. The majority of the day went by before Doug at last felt up to the challenge. Tom was awake, and this was his opportunity.

"Hey, Tom?" he inquired nervously.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, Doug went in for the plunge. "You know how your TV's been broken for awhile?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it….it didn't just happen. I….I sort of made it happen."

Tom quirked an eyebrow up in puzzlement. "Why?"

"I….I didn't want you to see the news. Any of it. Because….you would be on it."

The younger man frowned, not sure where this was headed. "Okay….Just locally, I mean, right? They wouldn't have too much to report on me, would they?" Upon witnessing his friend's troubled expression, his stomach seemed to flip over. "Doug?"

"I think you need to see something. Come here."

Hanson timidly followed his partner over to the desk, where Doug offered him the chair to sit down in as he turned on the computer.

"Doug, what's going on?"

"You wanna know how people really know what happened to you?"

"I….I guess…."

It took a couple of minutes for the computer to entirely boot up and a minute longer for Doug to open the web browser and type in a URL.

"It's….it's not nice, Tom," he said gloomily. "Just….brace yourself."

Tom swallowed a growing knot in his throat, and his anxious gaze focused on the monitor once Doug stepped to the side. There was a brief period of nothingness while the page loaded, but once it did, Hanson instantly felt as if he had been struck by a car. He could not breathe. There was a bitter pain that washed over him that soon turned to numbness. He could not think. Could not comprehend. Not until one of the videos started to play automatically. It was footage of him lying on the floor with a boot-clad foot pressing hard against his back. His arms were extended in front of him, and two of his kidnappers took their time in crushing his fingers by standing on them. His ankles were twisted outward and occasionally struck by a metal baseball bat.

Tom's frantic eyes darted across the screen to view another video playing, showing him on his back on the dingy bed, spread-eagled and naked, and groaning loudly as one of the males repeatedly inserted and removed his entire hand from Tom's body. Eventually, the teenager replaced his fist with his cock and powerfully drove himself in and out of Tom.

Silently, Doug studied his partner's countenance, his heart crumbling at the obvious shock, mortification, and horrible misery etched in Tom's features. There was a pang of regret for finally bringing it all to the younger man's attention, yet he reminded himself it had to be done. It was for the best. It was inevitable.

"H-How?" Tom's voice was thick with tears and quavered immensely.

"There were cameras, in the basement. Recorded you every second, every day. Caught everything."

"Every-" His throat closed up for a second, cutting off his sentence. "Everything?"

"Yeah. Whatever they did to you, people got to see. All the footage was archived on a site Danny and his friends had made, along with photos and places to put comments…."

"And you watched this."

It was not a question, and from the way the statement was spoken, Doug could sense something was about to snap in Tom's mind. "Yes. I watched it."

He was right.

Tom abruptly stood up and glared at him furiously. "How could you?! How could you watch this?! Did you enjoy it or something?! Did you _like_ seeing me like this?!"

"No! Tom! Of course not! I-"

"What did you do?! Make some popcorn, sit back, and enjoy?!"

"Tom, it wasn't like that-"

"So this is why people keep sending me explicit letters and messages?! Why they keep looking at me like I'm some sort of freak?! _This_ is why my mom hates me, isn't it?!"

"Tom-"

"_Isn't_ it?! She knows I've lied to her! She's seen for herself! Just like everyone else in the fucking world! Seen how heinous and-and-and appalling I am!"

"Tom, please-"

"When were you going to tell me?! Did you think I was stupid? That I'd never find out?"

"No! I was trying to protect you!"

"Protect me?! I have a right to know! How could you keep this from me?!"

"I thought I was doing the right thing-"

"No! You were trying to hide it, to cover it up, to keep me from knowing you saw everything and got a big kick out of it!"

"You know that's not true," Doug stated firmly, fighting off the intense sting he felt from his partner's words. "You know me better than that."

Tom wiped his watery eyes with the back of his sleeve and said in a hoarse, quiet voice, "How can I? You lied to me."

"I know I lied, but I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted to protect you, Tom. Can't you see that?"

"Just….Go, okay? I don't want to talk to you anymore. I don't want to see you. I want you to leave."

"Tom….come on….Please don't be like this."

"Go home."

"Tom-"

"GET OUT!" he shouted madly, causing Doug to take a step back.

There was no point in arguing, and Doug was not sure he had it in him to anyway. Tom's decision was made; there would be no changing his mind. In a state of defeat, Doug retreated to the front door and left, closing it gently behind him. Hastily, Tom unplugged the computer and curled up on the floor as he began to sob uncontrollably.

He was paralyzed by his tears for a lengthy while before he was at last subdued and had enough energy to move. He crawled to the kitchen to find a bottle of hard liquor, one of his new best friends.


	16. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Exactly one month since the last update! But it's okay; this one is an ass load. :) And finally, a little more action between the two! Exciting, right? haha Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story and those just now starting to read! As always, the reviews feed me; they're like my guilty pleasure snack. Welcome to **used romance **and **myownmind**! Thanks for clicking and reading!

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* * *

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**Chapter Nineteen**

For a week, Tom was suspended in a realm all of his own. He barely moved. He hardly ate. He did not bathe. He unplugged the phone from the wall and did not answer the door. The majority of his time was spent watching the recorded footage of his torment and lying in a curled up bundle on the floor.

Once, his mother came by. She knocked and called his name, saying something about missing appointments. Tom desperately wanted to get up and see her, but there was nothing in him that could overcome his deep depression; all he could do was remain on the floor in a fetal position as he wept.

Doug was called by the hospital, due to him being listed as an emergency contact on Tom's paperwork after Margaret Hanson, and questioned if he knew how to reach Tom. Having his attention brought to the situation of his partner's mysterious disappearance, he traveled to Hanson's apartment and knocked firmly on the door. So far, Hanson had missed two sessions with the psychiatrist and three physical therapy sessions. When there was no answer, he rapped on the wood again. No one came.

"Tom?" he called lightly, though loud enough for his partner to hear him from inside. "Tommy? It's Doug. Are you there? Come answer the door. Please? A lot of people are worried about you." He groped around the top part of the door frame, expecting to find the spare key there as usual. However, Tom must have taken it, for it was not there. "Please let me in."

To his astonishment, the door opened the tiniest bit, just enough to leave it ajar. Doug waited for a minute or so before slowly pushing it open all the way to step inside. Hanson was nowhere near the entrance, though Doug soon spotted him crawling back to the far corner of the room where the computer desk was. Tom stopped when he reached the end of the bar and sat with his back against its base. Swiftly, Doug walked over to him and knelt beside him. His expression twisted into one of grave sympathy upon viewing the state his partner was in. Large, dark circles hung beneath Hanson's eyes; his complexion was pale and his hair was a tangled, greasy mess. Dried blood adorned his arms and legs from the various wounds he had inflicted upon himself; the knife used to perform the procedures was resting two feet away from him on the ground, blade colored red. There were streaks on his face from where tears had fallen down his slightly dirtied cheeks, and to Doug's surprise, it looked as if he had lost more weight, giving him a gaunt, hollowed appearance.

The younger man's eyes were closed, prohibiting him from observing the immense sorrow and grief in the older cop's expression. Doug did not know what to do. He had expected a breakdown from Tom, but not as severe as this.

Inhaling a shaky breath, Doug placed a gentle hand onto Tom's good knee and whispered, "Hey buddy."

There was no reply, not even the slightest movement.

Doug covered his mouth for a brief moment, trying to get a hold of himself; tears were already threatening to leak out. "Can you-" he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Can you look at me? I know you're not asleep."

About a minute passed before Hanson let his eyelids drift open. He kept his eyes downcast, prompting Doug to tenderly grip his chin to lift his head. Reluctantly, he met the older male's affectionate gaze, and Doug had to swallow a gasp of alarm. Those expressive eyes – those beautiful, loveable, brown eyes – were so fraught with inconceivable amounts of agony, disgrace, neglect, and despair that Doug could barely take it. The way they stared at him, conveying such intense suffering and hopelessness, he felt as if a knife had gone straight to his heart.

"Why are you here?" Tom inquired indifferently, voice not much more than a hoarse whisper. Before Doug could answer, he went on. "Let me guess – you came here to beat the ever living shit out of me. Have some fun and fool around. Make me your own personal whore. Spit on me and condemn me to Hell. Am I right?"

"No," Doug breathed, shaking his head. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"What else am I supposed to think? Seems like that's all I'm good for."

"Have you been watching that stuff every day?"

"Does it matter?"

"Tom…." He took Tom's face in his hands and let his thumbs softly rub the dampened cheeks. "You're so much better than that….Can I make you something to eat? Looks like you haven't eaten in weeks."

"No. I've found a new diet I rather enjoy. Makes things just go away for awhile."

Doug glanced behind the bar and to the kitchen. A number of empty liquor bottles lie scattered on the floor. "God, Tom, please don't. I swear it doesn't make things better.

"I don't care."

"Tommy-"

"Please don't start on me like that."

"Okay, okay. You want me to at least help you to the bathroom to take a bath? I think it'll do you good, relax you, make ya feel better."

Tom shrugged, and Doug took it as a "yes." He instructed Hanson to put his arms around his neck and unhurriedly, he picked the younger man up and carried him into the bedroom and through the door to the bathroom. It was very clear to see how exhausted Tom was; he did not make any sort of move to start undressing himself. He leaned against the sink as Doug turned on the water to fill the tub and then allowed his partner to begin removing his clothes. The water-protective sleeve was slipped on to cover his brace, and as they waited on the water, Doug hugged him close.

"It's gonna be okay," Penhall whispered into his ear. "I'm always here for you."

Within a few minutes, the bathtub was two-thirds full with warm water. Hanson was aided into it by Penhall's steady hands and lowered down. Right away, he bent his left knee and held it to his chest. He made no effort to begin bathing himself, and Doug chose to take on the task for him. After retrieving a clean washcloth, Penhall submerged it underwater for a couple of seconds and then held it above his friend's head. He wrung it out, letting the clear liquid rain down on Tom's disheveled hair. A relaxed sigh was the response; he could tell Tom enjoyed the feel of it. Gently, he massaged shampoo into the young man's dark locks, observing the pleased facial expressions crossing Tom's face as he did so.

"I really think you should start taking better care of yourself," Doug stated quietly.

"I'm just not good enough for anything or anyone, am I?"

"I didn't mean it like that." He rinsed his hands off in the water, took the small plastic cup that was sitting on the sink and filled it with water, saying softly, "Tilt your head back."

Tom did so and closed his eyes as well, while Doug put his hand against the younger man's forehead to help prevent the shampoo from running onto his face. Four cups worth of water were poured onto the dark hair, and Doug brushed his fingers through it to ensure the shampoo was rinsed out thoroughly. Next was to wash Hanson's body. He decided he would only do the man's back, arms, and torso. After soaping up the washcloth, he rubbed it in circles against Hanson's dorsal side, cringing a little at the sight of the male's spine so easily discernible.

"Please, will you eat something after this if I make it for you?" Doug asked hopefully.

"Nothing sounds good."

"I can whip up anything. I'll even take you out to eat, if you want."

"No thanks."

Within a few minutes, Doug had finished what areas he knew were appropriate for him to wash and handed the cloth to Hanson.

"You can do your….down there…." he muttered awkwardly. He turned away to give his friend some privacy, while Tom cleaned his genitals. Once he was finished, Tom cleared his throat and hesitantly met Doug's gaze.

"All done," Tom voiced with a feigned smile.

"Ready to get out?"

"Yeah….sure."

Doug pushed in the little metal handle to start draining the water and pulled Hanson up to stand. The young male cautiously stepped out of the tub and stood still as his partner dried him off. The plastic sleeve covering his brace was taken off, and a towel was wrapped around his waist before he was lead into the bedroom. He was suddenly cold and altogether tired, prompting him to lie down on the bed under the covers. Shivering slightly, he held the top of the sheets and comforter tightly under his chin, curled up on his side, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. If he never had to leave his bed again, he would be immensely happy.

"Can I get you anything?"

Tom's eyelids flitted open, and he stared at Doug groggily. "No thanks."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Meds?"

"I'm good."

"Do you want me to stay for awhile?"

"If you want."

"Tom…." Doug sat on the edge of the bed beside him and looked at him earnestly. "You know I love you, man. I just want to help. I know it's bad now, but….it'll get better, I swear."

"How can you be so sure?"

"That's what you have to keep telling yourself if you want to make it through all this. You have to believe it will."

"Well, sorry if I don't see it that way. All God has to do is let me die here in bed, and I'd be so happy; things would be better then."

"There are a lot of people who would miss you. I guarantee that."

A shrug. "They'll have realized I was worthless sooner or later."

"That's not true."

After a pause, Hanson inquired quietly, "What would you do?" The question was timid and worried; Doug could see it in his eyes.

"I'd miss you," Doug answered softly. "I'd miss you a lot. You're my best friend, Tommy. You've put up with everything I've done, whether it's been immature or not. You've been there for me to talk me down when I almost do something stupid. You've been there to listen to me, or be my drinking buddy at night after a tough day. I don't have any immediate family; and I don't have any other friends that I can open up to like I can with you. You're….You're the most important person in my life, Tom. I don't want to lose you….I _can't_ lose you."

Doug was taken aback to discover he had begun to cry. He looked at Tom sheepishly, but hurriedly felt comfortable once again upon seeing Tom's face dampened with tears. With arms extended, Hanson whispered, "Come here," and spread his legs farther apart. Penhall could not resist the gesture whatsoever; he lied in between the younger man's legs and rested his head near the crook of Tom's neck. Fingers were soon stroking his hair lovingly, making him let out a comforted sigh. Hanson closed his eyes and leaned his head against his partner's. He could not remember a time when Doug Penhall had ever cried. It just did not happen. But now….he realized just how much he was hurting him.

Another example of what a disappointment he was to others. Another testament to what he was not good enough for: being a friend.

"Doug, I…." he started, unsure of what he wanted, or should, say. "I'm sorry. But what do I do? I can't….I can't handle it. I don't want to live with all of this anymore."

"I know it's hard for you now; I _know_ that. And I won't say I understand what you're going through, because I don't. But I want to help you as much as I possibly can, if you'll let me."

"Come on," Tom said with a light laugh. "Tell the truth. You do not. You've got better things to do; _I_ know that."

Doug lifted his head to gaze directly into his friend's eyes; there was no trace of a lie. "Nothing I have to do is better than you. I mean it. I….I try to take care of you because I want to. And to make up for failing you."

"Failing me? What are you talking about?"

"I completely failed you. I couldn't find you before things got so bad. I didn't save you from those fucking creeps. All I could do was watch them violate you and hurt you. I can't forgive myself for that, and I don't expect you to either."

"Don't say that," Tom scolded gently as he tucked a few strands of Doug's hair behind his ear. "You didn't do anything wrong. I told you not to come after me. I had given up on being found pretty early on. I didn't deserve to be found anyway. This….This whole thing is my fault."

"How do you figure?"

"I killed Tanner. Punishment had to be comin' sometime, and it did."

"Tom….I thought you had gotten past that. We talked about it that night before you disappeared. It had to be done. There wasn't any other way."

"I hear you, but….I….no."

"Tom-"

"Let's just….stop talking about it, okay? I'm really tired."

"Okay. You want me to go out into the other room?" he asked as he sat up and away from Tom.

"No, you can stay."

Doug grinned cheerfully, which made Tom smile as well, and shifted to the other half of the bed to lie beside his partner. After kicking off his shoes, he slipped his legs under the covers and nestled back against the two pillows on his side of the bed. When Tom moved to rest on his side to face him, the older man did the same, and the two of them smiled at one another. The shy giddiness in Hanson's eyes and the fact that he was ultimately naked beneath the clean sheets sent streams of arousal through Doug's anatomy.

He had no idea he was simply staring at Tom – quite lustfully, in fact – until the younger man quirked a quizzical eyebrow and asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah….of course," he replied faintly.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay….Maybe I should take off this towel, stop getting the sheets all wet," he added quietly.

"Yes, yes, you should," Doug said rather quickly. There was no denying it now; he was losing his self-control. Being in such close proximity to the person he was beyond attracted to for so long and not being able to touch him in the ways in which he yearned to was finally catching up with him.

Hanson un-tucked the front and tried to pull it from under himself, but was not strong enough. "Can you?" he questioned and handed his partner the free end of the towel.

The fabric was swept out from beneath him in one speedy movement and tossed onto the floor. "There. Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Tom, can I….Would you…."

"What?"

"I….I want to kiss you," he admitted reluctantly. It was a rather toned down confession of what he truly longed to do.

"Kiss me? Why?"

"Well….I mean, we could finish what we started that one night last week."

"What night?"

"Remember? We watched the Dalmatian movie and afterward, we came in here and you kissed me, things heated up, but we stopped before anything really happened."

Hanson frowned and shook his head. "I guess I don't. To be honest, I can barely remember back to the start of this week. Why would you want to touch me anyway? You saw everything they did to me."

"It doesn't matter. I don't care. I want you."

"Doug….come on. You know what happened the last time we….well, when we….fooled around and did it."

"And I've been wanting to do it again ever since."

"I….can't, Doug. I'm sorry."

"How can you have sex with some random cab driver but not me?"

The question was not spoken in a bitter context, yet the deep insult it caused Hanson was very clear.

"Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I-"

"Don't worry. I get it," he muttered dejectedly. "Sorry. You're right. It doesn't make sense, huh?"

Before Doug could say anything else, Hanson was kissing him fervently. Whatever doubts or hesitations Penhall had formed during their short conversation were suddenly gone. He pulled Tom's thin body flush against his and ran his hand up and down the smaller man's back while continuing to kiss him ardently. Feeling Tom's bare skin in this fashion was intoxicating; he would caress every inch of his partner's body by the time they were done.

A couple of minutes passed before Tom broke away from Doug's lips and stared at him coyly. There was trepidation in his dilated eyes, and what he murmured was different than what Penhall was expecting.

"I'll be right back. Gonna take some meds before we go any further so I don't get a sudden headache, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sounds good. Go for it."

Tom gave a chaste smile and then got up from the bed. Grabbing his crutches, he started for the kitchen; Doug's eyes ravenously drank in the sight of Hanson's nude backside as the young male went out of the room. With a heavy sigh and excited grin, Penhall began shedding his clothing. Every piece was soon disposed of on the floor. He moved to Hanson's side of the bed to open the top drawer of the nightstand, checking to make sure the items he would need were there. There was a tube of lubrication rolled all the way up, indicating it was pretty much empty; another small, just opened bottle of lube; and numerous packages of condoms scattered about. Just looking at the contents of the drawer and envisioning what they would soon be used for made his hardened member jump slightly.

At last.

* * *

Tom opened the refrigerator to retrieve a water bottle, shut the door, and then leaned back against it. Exhaling a deep breath, he closed his eyes and silently considered what he was about to do in the other room. It baffled him, the fact that Doug wished to have him. It did not make any sense; Penhall had seen just how defiled he had become, how worthless and pathetic he was. Why would someone like Doug Penhall, or anyone for that matter, have any sort of desire to make contact with such spoiled territory?

"Oh god….Why are you doing this, Tom?" he breathed dismally. "How can you go through with it? He doesn't want you for anything other than this. You're stupid to think he'd ever want something more. You don't deserve him. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

With another sigh, he took the few steps needed to reach the kitchen counter beneath the cabinets where the myriad of prescription drug bottles were. The area was like a private pharmacy. There were at least ten different medications present. Anxiety was building fast, causing him to take out a valium and a Prozac. For any discomfort that may result from either his injuries or from Doug, he swallowed down three eight-hundred milligram ibuprofen capsules and a lower-tab. Tired eyes swept over the labels on the pill bottles and continued to stare at them as he contemplated what to do. After a minute or so, he twisted off the caps of all the containers and took a single tablet from each one. Already, he was beginning to feel light headed and a little disoriented, though he found these effects to be mostly pleasant. His limbs started to feel heavier, and he was growing increasingly sleepy; nevertheless, he made for the bedroom at a leisurely pace, a lop-sided grin plastered on his face.

"Hey," he greeted quietly as he entered and met Doug's famished gaze.

"Hey," was the almost inaudible reply. By now, there was no use hiding how aroused he was. Tom was still flaccid, but that would be remedied in a short time.

"So, um…." Hanson set down his crutches, crept onto the bed, and traced his hand along the side of his partner's face. "How do we, uh, go about it?"

"Like this."

Doug captured the younger man's lips with his own, drawing him into a lengthy, passionate kiss while his hands simultaneously inched along Tom's body. With lips so soft and full and vocals so enchanting like a melody, Doug believed his friend could quite possibly be an angel. Just for him. _All_ for him. As his fingers discovered the other male's cock, he grew envious and angry at the notion of anyone else having Hanson the way he was currently experiencing the man's body. Hanson was _his_, had always _been_ his – whether as a best friend, pretend brother, or a one-time lover.

With slow maneuvering, Penhall pushed Tom onto his back and followed to hover above him. He nestled himself between the smaller male's spread legs and started forging a trail of kisses along his skin, beginning at Tom's forehead. The feeling of Doug's lips on his face was soft; only when the older cop ventured downward and reached his neck did the kisses become more rough and fiery. Teeth occasionally grazed his skin, causing him to close his eyes in pleasure. The way Doug nibbled on his neck made his toes curl and his back arch upward off the bed a little. He was sure he would enjoy it more if only his head were not so clouded from medication.

There was no rush, and Doug planned on taking his time in having Hanson. So far, all seemed well. The younger man was responding nicely to every one of his caresses, hickeys, and licks; a trembling whimper was a sign to continue on, and Penhall complied whole-heartedly.

Letting his eyes flicker up to gaze at Tom's face, Doug looked for the approval that he knew was there. Hanson appeared to be somewhat out of it, but not for the reason Penhall believed. Gingerly, he circled the head of Hanson's cock with his talented tongue and then proceeded to cover the whole shaft with his mouth. Hanson cried out beautifully. Fingers flexed on the sheets, weakly grabbing handfuls for something to hold on to. Low, muffled moans escaped his throat and grew louder as the waves of ecstasy coursing through him increased in intensity. The feel of his partner's hot, moist mouth on his sensitive, throbbing member was indescribable; he could not remember a time, not even the time he and Doug had first slept together, when he had felt so aroused and overwhelmed with utter bliss. It was astonishing, the amount of pleasure cocooning him. His skin glistened with tiny beads of sweat; he was submerged in an ecstasy-filled inferno. If only his head were not so dizzy….

Remembering why he took so much medication in the first place, he suddenly felt incredibly ashamed. He was not supposed to be enjoying it. _Doug_ was. He was there to merely serve a purpose for the other male. He knew he was not deserving of such delight, nor did he deserve to have someone as perfect as his partner touching him. _Doug_ was supposed to be the one having all the fun.

Emitting a feeble sound of rapture and indignity, Tom climaxed within the confines of Doug's mouth. Once the last of Tom's seed had spilled onto his tongue, Doug pulled away to swallow and wipe his lips. He moved back up his friend's slim body to stare at him directly with nothing but content and satisfaction in his eyes. The same could not be said for Tom's, though the older officer could not see the turmoil in the brown orbs.

"Did that feel good?" he asked slyly.

Hanson nodded obediently, knowing it was the answer his friend wanted.

Leaning down to suckle on Hanson's earlobe, he whispered, "Can I have you now?"

Another insecure nod.

Doug almost groaned with lust from the silent action. The wait was over, and he knew it would be well worth it; it was already turning out to be. From the nightstand drawer, he fished out a condom package and the bottle of lube. Tom watched with half-way opened eyes as Doug tore off the top of the packet and removed the protection. Things were growing visibly hazy, making him blink rapidly for numerous seconds to try and make it better. By the time his vision became a bit clearer, Doug was completely prepared and eager to go.

Having gone through it so many times in the past, Hanson knew exactly what to do in order to give his partner access to his body. He slid his legs farther apart and shoved a pillow under himself to raise his hips. His heart was beating fiercely from anticipation and uncertainty; Doug surely had to hear it.

Once Penhall was wholly inside of him, it was not long before everything started to turn fuzzy once more. The surroundings and Doug blurred together, and the older cop's voice and breathing were nothing more than distant, incomprehensible noises. He could feel that his eyes were now wide open, but it did not help him to see any better. His skin was numb and his limbs were heavy; there was no way of telling what Penhall was doing with him now. He could not feel anything.

After what felt like an hour or so, he made out the figure above him moving to lie down beside him. There was a quiet echo in his ear as if someone was talking to him and light pressure on his arm as if someone had laid a hand on him.

Moments later, everything went black and silent.

* * *

Doug sighed as he flopped onto the sofa, rubbed his face, and closed his eyes. At first, he did not believe that Tom had passed out just seconds after he had finished the sexual act. It was normal for Tom to get drowsy and fall asleep easily after taking a dose of meds, but after shaking the limp being several times and calling his name, Doug was aware something was wrong. The young man's breathing varied from shallow and raspy to long and labored. A cold sweat crept over his skin, making him shiver underneath the sheets and comforter that Doug covered him with. The older cop had no idea what could be causing his friend to act this way until he went to the kitchen for a glass of water. There, on the counter, the eight or so prescription bottles were all open with a number of pills scattered around them as if hastily dumped in order to easily handpick what and how many capsules suited the person's fancy. Whatever combination the now unconscious man had chosen, it worked in warding off any pain and more.

Was he really so horrible that Tom had to swallow a dangerous mixture of pills to detach himself from the sex? Presently, he comprehended just how much he had been caught and swept up in his own lustful cravings and desires. He was barred from understanding what Hanson had truly wanted; the words and nods of approval Hanson gave were nothing but lies. The younger man had not wished to get as intimate as Penhall longed to be; the more Doug thought about it, the more he trusted the conclusion that Tom had been afraid to deny him, afraid of the consequences if he had said, "No".

"Way to go," Doug mumbled, angry at himself. "Shouldn't have done it. Too soon. He's not ready for that sort of thing, even if it is with me. Jesus, what was I thinking? Stupid, bad mistake."

During the next twelve hours, he periodically went into the bedroom to check on Tom, who was still in a form of unconsciousness. As time ticked by, it seemed that the frail man had passed into a more tranquil state; the bouts of shuddering, sweating, and uneven breathing had gone away. Early on, Penhall had though about calling 911 for an ambulance, but instead, he settled for phoning the hospital to briefly explain the situation and ask if there should be any concern. The RN he talked to advised him to continue closely monitoring Hanson; if there was no improvement or he grew worse or he did not regain consciousness within the next few hours, then Doug should bring him to the emergency room. Deciding that Hanson had the slightest bit of improvement, Doug refrained from driving him downtown to the hospital. In any case, he was too preoccupied with his guilt and depression to get up and go anywhere other than to walk back and forth between the bedroom and living room.

* * *

The lamp on the nightstand was turned on, illuminating the otherwise dark room. The door was open, and he could see there were more lights turned on in the living room. Was someone with him? He could not remember; he could not remember a lot of things. When did the day change to night? When did he fall asleep? And why was he so tired?

Tom emitted a frustrated, weak moan and sat up slowly, using the headboard as a backrest. The bed linens felt strangely close to him, and he discovered why when he peered under the covers to find himself completely naked. Hurriedly, he put down the sheets and tucked it around him; no one was going to pull them off to expose him. He would make sure of it.

From the other room, he heard someone cough and clear their throat. Panic surged through him in an instant; he held his breath as the person came nearer. The moment he saw who it was, he let it out, relief rushing through him. Just Doug.

"Finally come around?" Doug asked as he shuffled to the bedside.

"What do you mean?"

"You were out for thirteen hours straight."

Tom's eyes dilated. "What? How?"

"You don't….You don't remember?"

"Guess not."

"You took a bunch of pills then came back to bed so we….so we could…."

"Oh my god. We didn't….We didn't do it, did we?" His expression was one of alarm and anxiousness.

By the reaction, Doug figured out how he should answer. Tom had not wanted to do it, could not remember them doing it, and Doug was not about to remind him now; it was yet another thing best left unsaid. "No, no we didn't," he assured.

"Okay, good," Tom muttered with a heavy sigh. "I mean," he added quickly, "it's not like….you know….I guess it wouldn't be a bad thing….It's….You're good looking and all-"

Penhall smiled and held up a hand. "I got it. No worries. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, not too bad. Different, but not really a bad different."

"Well, now that you're up, do you want somethin' to eat?"

"I don't….I'm not…."

"Too bad. You're eating, whether you like what I fix or not."

There was no use arguing, for Penhall was gone in seconds, headed for the kitchen.

* * *

While Doug made whatever suited his taste buds, Tom got dressed in a pair of blue boxers, a white t-shirt, and the majorly over-sized hoodie he still had of Doug's. It was extremely comfortable, warm, and familiar; his partner's scent still lingered on the fabric, which he secretly loved to smell when alone. He grinned at the thought of doing so. It felt like such a childish thing to do – slightly perverse, even – but it brought him some sort of wonderful composure. This was something he would never admit to doing, of course, especially to Doug; the other man would probably think it funny and ridiculous. Not that that was wholly bad; he did love making his partner laugh.

A couple of minutes after putting on clothes, he hobbled out into the living room and plopped onto the couch. He had forgotten the television was essentially broken when he turned it on and was staring at static on the screen. Another movie would be fine, yet he was simply too exhausted to get up again to put in a tape. Oh well; a night of quiet would not be so bad, he reckoned – especially since he was not alone.

"Alright, here we go," Doug announced a minute later as he strolled around to the front of the sofa. Setting down a plate and cup on the coffee table, he said pleasantly, "One over-easy egg and two buttered pieces of toast. Plus, a healthy glass of orange juice. I figured it'd be good to start off a bit light."

Tom smiled and nodded. "Thanks. It looks good."

"Dig in! I'm gonna go fix mine."

Five minutes later Penhall returned with a plate of his own. He glanced at Tom, who was slowly picking at his food, and frowned. At least he was finally eating.

"You wanna watch anything?"

The younger man shrugged. "Yeah, okay. You can pick."

"What're ya in the mood for?"

"Doesn't matter. Anything's fine."

Doug got up and knelt down by the TV to scour the movie titles on the shelf. The phone abruptly rang, making Hanson jump a little. The other cop turned his head to stare at his friend, and Hanson held up a finger. After he finished chewing the bite in his mouth, he stated, "I'll get it. You keep looking."

Doug plucked _Lethal Weapon_ from the stack of VHS tapes and pushed it into the VCR. He gave a small chuckle from viewing the various cop movie titles; it would not surprise him if Tom used them for research on how to be a better officer and what not to do as a policeman. He took a seat on the couch, turned on the VCR, and let the previews run instead of fast forwarding. It was not long before Hanson came back to sit beside him, appearing unwell. His head was bowed and he did not say a word.

"Who was it?" Doug inquired after a number of seconds.

"Fuller," was the sullen reply.

"What'd he have to say?"

"Gotta go to a meeting tomorrow. His office. I know what it's for."

"What's it for?"

"My dismissal."

Doug swallowed, not quite understanding what he had heard. Between the two of them, they both knew this sort of situation was most likely inevitable, but that was not to say either of them had lost hope for him to be back on the team. It did not seem real. "Your dismissal?"

"Yes."

"Did he actually say that?"

"He didn't have to. I could tell by his voice it wasn't going to be good news."

"Well, that doesn't mean-"

"Doug….There's nothing else it could be. _I_ knew it was gonna happen. _You_ knew. There's just no way I could go back. I'm not fit for it anymore. It's….it's the best thing."

The downplayed sorrow in his tone ate at Doug's heart. Being a police officer was Tom's life; it had been that way even before his father's death. His dad had laid the path, and he had diligently followed. Now, it was blocked by an obstacle he could not get around. The misery and abundant grief written on his countenance said it all.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," Doug uttered softly.

Tom nodded, sniffed, and lifted his head. He struggled to mask his despair, though was not particularly successful. "It's okay. Let's just, uh, watch the movie."

All at once, Doug regretted his film pick. However, Tom did not seem to be paying any attention. His eyes stared at the screen, yet were not seeing anything. They were vacant and brimming with tears. Resting his hand on the younger man's back, Doug began to rub it soothingly, noting how his friend tensed up instinctively.

For the length of the entire movie, nothing was said. Even after the credits were over, they stayed rather motionless and silent. Within an hour or so, Hanson fell asleep, and Doug did not feel the need to carry him to bed. Instead, he spread a blanket on top of the thin body and re-situated himself on the other couch to gaze at him. From his point of view, Tom looked like a boy stuck between being a child and being one of the teenagers he often posed as. There was a hint of innocence in his young face countered by tumultuous personal issues that start fully coming around when one enters those awkward years. His gentle, youthful appearance gave the impression that he had barely begun to experience life when in reality, he had gone through more than anyone should. At that moment, as he slept with his lips slightly parted and loose bangs hanging over his closed eyes, he looked absolutely pure and unsullied. Breathtaking. No signs of the agonizing pain Doug knew were there.

It was heartbreaking to realize this state of sheer peacefulness was not going to last. The meeting for dismissal was the tip of the iceberg Tom had been climbing; everything would soon be taking a downhill trip.


	17. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Holy hell. It's been 2 months since I've updated this fic! Hopefully, the next chapter won't take as long.

Thank you to all who reviewed! And those who are simply reading. I appreciate all the support you guys give me, and I love reading the emotional reactions. I also want to say it means a lot to me that you have stuck with this story. There's a fanfic on this site that has taken a lot of my ideas from this particular story and hasn't given credit. I don't want to sound like a bitch or anything like that; I just mean that I'm very glad you all are still reading mine and reviewing and haven't left. :)

Okay. Enough of the sappy crap. Everyone's here for the angst. :D One more thing: We've passed 100 reviews!!! *tosses confetti*

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

It was one o'clock in the afternoon, and Tom had barely stirred whatsoever in his sleep. There was an occasional grunt or muffled word and bouts of twitching; other than that, he appeared to be resting quite peacefully.

Doug had woken up at ten-thirty, read the day's newspaper, fixed a pot of coffee, and then merely took to watching his partner sleep from where he sat on the other couch. With such a stunning, serene face, Doug found it easy to become enthralled with Tom's good looks to pass the time.

Shortly after one, Doug approached the prone figure and shook his arm gently.

"Tom," he muttered sweetly. "Tommy. Time to wake up."

A low, displeased groan was the response, followed by hands weakly batting at the air.

Doug laughed a little and affectionately squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, buddy. You have that meeting with Fuller today, remember?"

Tom rolled onto his right side to put his back to the older cop and groggily mumbled, "Ten more minutes."

"Fine. Ten more minutes. Then it's up!"

Tom swatted his hand over his shoulder to signal Penhall to go away and sighed heavily as he drifted back to dream land. It hardly felt like any time had passed before Penhall was shaking his arm again. No matter how much he moaned and quietly argued in protest, his partner would not leave him alone. At last, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, yawned, and stretched.

"What time is it?"

"Almost one-thirty."

"Shit. Didn't think it was that late."

"You were out like a light."

"Fuller call or anything? Asking where I am?"

"Nope, but I figure we'd better get over there before three, at least."

"You ready?"

"Yeah. You want some breakfast, er, lunch before we go?"

Hanson shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'll just eat somethin' when we get back."

"You gonna put some pants on first?"

The young man glanced down to discover he was only wearing his boxers with his t-shirt and hoodie, and his cheeks turned a light shade of red from embarrassment. "Yeah. That would be good."

"I'll get 'em."

Doug escaped into the bedroom for a moment and returned with a pair of gray sweat pants that had already been "doctored" so that Tom could put them on easily even with his brace. They looked a tad funny with the right leg slit all the way up to his thigh, causing the fabric to flap around his injured appendage, but they had to suffice. In Tom's eyes, they were comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

Once they were outside the apartment building, Doug had to carry Tom down the six or so stairs to reach the sidewalk; stairs were still something he was not able to do by himself yet. People walking by glanced at the two men a bit callously and commented to one another in hushed tones. Not only were they a somewhat odd sight, but Hanson knew now why the public would stare at him so spitefully and ridicule him; they undoubtedly knew who he was and held him in low-esteem.

Shyly, Tom kept his face turned away from the public, not only feeling embarrassment for himself, but for Doug as well; it was because of him that Doug was being pointed and sneered at. The older officer did not seem bothered by the attention whatsoever. He kept up a confident stride as he headed for his friend's Mustang. It was parked a few yards away, and once the two of them were in the car, Tom said sheepishly, "I'm sorry for all that."

Starting the engine, Doug shook his head and replied, "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault."

"Yeah….right…."

"Bunch of idiots, all of them."

Tom smiled faintly, though stayed quiet.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence.

* * *

With a heavy sigh in an attempt to calm his nerves, Tom knocked on the door of his superior's office. There was a clear command of "come in," to which he obeyed with slight trepidation. He closed the entrance quietly and looked at Captain Fuller expectantly. Presently, Fuller was focused on a pile of papers at his desk, not bothering to glance up to see who his guest was.

"Hey, Coach," Tom greeted with a half-smile.

Fuller raised his head and got to his feet, smiling a little in return as he stated, "Good to see you, Hanson. Have a seat."

Tom muttered a small "thank you" as he limped toward the nearest chair in front of Fuller's desk. He laid his crutches down on the floor next to him and nervously waited for what he knew was coming.

"How've you been?" Fuller asked kindly.

"Good, I guess. Been better. Doug's doing a good job of helping me out."

"Yes, well, you can always count on Penhall to come through."

"Yeah."

"I suppose you know why you're here, don't you?"

"I believe I have a pretty good idea."

"The district has requested your resignation from the Jump Street program and from law enforcement altogether."

Tom merely nodded, his eyes drifting to gaze at anything other than Fuller's somber expression.

"I'm truly sorry, Hanson."

"Like I haven't heard that before," he mumbled.

"Have you given thought to what type of job you'd want to pursue?"

"No. Doug and I were just going to drive around and pick up applications from various places. I'll take anything, though I doubt I'll get lucky."

"Why's that?"

"Who would want to hire me? Not just because of my physical condition at the moment, but because I know there's a good chance they saw how I got this way. If people here don't want to work with me because of that, why should I expect any different from strangers?"

"I'm sure there's something for you that you'll find. I can even write you a letter of recommendation if you like."

"Thanks, but it won't be necessary."

"Look, Hanson," Fuller began as he got up and walked around to take a seat on the edge of his desk in front of Tom. "I know there's probably nothing I can say that will make things any easier or better, but I want you to know you don't have to go through this alone."

"Yeah, I know." There was a short pause before he added, "I'm sorry, Captain."

Fuller folded his arms and stared at Tom, puzzled. "Why are you apologizing, Hanson?"

"For….everything." Tom bowed his head and let out a heavy breath. "For messing up, for the negative press the program's gotten, for-"

"Have you really been blaming yourself for all this?"

No response.

"Hanson….Tom, none of what's happened is your fault. You've been horribly wronged, but you're absolutely not the one who's caused any of the vicious crimes against you or the present intolerance you're facing on any part. It's not your fault."

"Yeah, I guess," he said softly and with minute confidence. "Look, uh, I can't really hand over my badge and weapon; they took them from my apartment when they got me. That much I remember."

"We found them at Benton's house."

"Oh….okay. Good. No word on who the last two accomplices were?"

"Not yet. Neither of them are giving up names at the moment."

Tom began to rub his forefinger along his lower lip as was common when he was troubled or thinking deeply.

"The hearing date has been set for next Wednesday at noon."

"Coach?"

"Yes?"

"I don't think I want to go through with it….pressing charges, going to court, all of it."

"Hanson, if you don't, they'll walk."

"I know."

"And that's what you want? You'd be fine knowing they get a clean break from all the trauma they put you through?"

"Yeah." The stern, inquiring expression Fuller had made him re-consider. "Maybe….No. I just don't….want to be in the same room with them or talk about what happened in front of a crowd of people. I'd just like to forget about it."

"If only it were that easy, but it's not. None of this has been easy for you, but if I've learned anything about you, it's that you're a strong young man. You have the drive and a tough spirit in you that most people dream of having. You've overcome some heavy ordeals in the past and have come out on top; I don't think this one will be any different. You'll make it through all of this."

Tom gave a sincere smile, nodded, and looked at the other man. "Thanks, Coach. I appreciate it."

They shook hands and shared a few more words with each other before Tom left the office. He headed over to his desk with Doug trailing behind him and gazed at his previous work area. There were already a couple of boxes sitting atop his desk, waiting to be packed.

"I should get started on this," he muttered, surveying the numerous personal items he would have to take home.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get it tomorrow or something."

"No, I can do it."

"Tom."

The younger man met his partner's understanding eyes, realizing that it would be best to have his friend pack up for him; he knew there was a good chance of him becoming emotional while cleaning out his space, and that was something he did not want to deal with in front of people.

"Yeah, okay," he said faintly.

"Ready to go?"

"Sure."

"Job hunting?"

"Yeah."

* * *

"So," Doug began as he settled back into the driver's seat and started the car. "How many does that one make?"

"Um….Seven, it looks like."

"Not bad. How many more places did you want to run by?"

"We've hit all the ones hiring and ones that are in my league. Mcdonald's, Burger King, Rocket Dog, Walmart, Rent a Video, the Cineplex, and The Bookshelf. I say we call it a day."

"Alright. You got it."

On the ride home, Tom thumbed through the applications absently, imagining all the ways they could go about rejecting him.

* * *

After two hours, Hanson tossed his pen down, leaned back in his chair, and announced exasperatedly, "There. All seven applications finished."

"You know, you might've been done earlier if you hadn't taken some of those meds. Clouded your head; I could tell."

"Could you? Well, thank you for the observation, Doogie Howser."

"Ha ha, very funny. I'm just sayin'!"

"I know. I should've waited a while longer, but the pain was coming on pretty quick. Had to take _something_ to make it back off."

Doug nodded in understanding; he had actually been a little surprised that his friend had not taken more. It had been his observation that Hanson had been in a decent amount of discomfort.

"Now, doctor, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower." Tom was up and heading toward the bedroom in a number of seconds, Doug following him like a puppy.

"A shower? Don't you remember what happened the last time you tried taking one?"

Removing his shirt, Hanson thought for a brief moment before answering. "No, not really."

"Well, I do. You blacked out and banged your head pretty hard."

"Guess that'd explain why I can't remember then, huh?" He kicked his boxers aside and went into the bathroom.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Doug stated as Tom turned on the water and pulled up the lever to move the water up to the showerhead. He looked away as Tom put on his protective brace sleeve, feeling his face flush from the always wonderful sight of his partner's naked body.

"Doug, I'll be fine. Really."

"I don't know, Tommy." By the time the sentence was out of his mouth, Tom was beginning to step into the bathtub. "Tom."

"I'll be _fine_."

The curtain was pulled closed, and Doug sighed in defeat. An idea suddenly hit him, then; quickly, he started to strip down until all of his clothes were on the floor. Quietly, he crept into the tub, drawing the curtain closed behind him, and simply gazed at his best friend standing nude under the cascading water. Hanson's back was to Doug as he rubbed his hands on his face and torso. When he turned around several seconds later, he jumped and gasped from discovering Doug behind him. The older cop smiled coyly in response to the startled reaction.

"Doug!" Hanson exclaimed, his hands moving to cover his genitals. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Oh come on; it's not like I haven't seen all of you before."

Tom scowled, easing up ever so slightly. "That's not the point."

"Look, I just want to make sure nothing bad happens, okay? This way, I can catch you if you get too light headed. Is that cool?"

Tom glanced away briefly, sighed, and nodded. "Yeah. It's cool."

"Great. You want help-"

"No," Tom hurriedly interrupted him. "I want to try doing this all on my own."

"Okay. No problem."

Doing his best to pretend his former partner was not there – and very much in the buff – Tom squeezed some shampoo into his palm and massaged it into his hair. So far, it appeared that he was not having any sort of trouble, making Penhall wonder if his plan was going to be useful or not. However, once the shampoo was washed from Hanson's hair and he began to soap and scrub his body, his strength was dwindling. His knee started to ache, and there was a dull throbbing in his ankles. His vision seemed to narrow as his head began to hurt. Doug realized this and drew Tom against him in a gentle hug.

"Feelin' okay?" he asked next to Hanson's ear.

"Yeah, just….feel tired and sore. Little dizzy."

"Give it a minute."

Hanson relaxed in his friend's embrace, holding onto the larger man not only to keep from collapsing, but from the genuine comfort he gave off. For a couple of minutes, the sound of running water was all that could be heard. The two men remained rather motionless beneath the warm waterfall until Hanson at last pulled away, assuring Penhall that he was fine and the faint spell had passed for the most part.

Tom did not remain in the shower for much longer. He stepped out, leaving Doug alone to finish washing up, and dried off leisurely. The water-protective sleeve was hung back up on the hook behind the door before he went into the bedroom. By the time Doug was done with the rest of his shower a few minutes later, Hanson had on a pair of boxers, a white t-shirt, and Doug's hoodie. He headed into the living room, retrieved the mail they had gotten before coming up to his apartment, and settled on the couch. There were a couple of the usual nasty nature; two pieces were from the hospital and his landlord. From merely seeing the senders on both envelopes, he got a disconcerting feeling in his stomach. Both were no doubt asking for the same thing: money – something he was lacking in at the moment. The letter from his landlord was nothing more than a brief, unexplained notice that his rent would be going up by one hundred fifty dollars, beginning next month. The hospital's mail was a bill for medical expenses, stating there were two months before he had to begin the payment process. The total was well over one hundred thousand dollars. The number made Tom's head spin. Extreme worry filled him, thinking of how he would be able to pay for it all.

"What's that?"

Penhall's voice broke him out of his silent panic, prompting him to look at his partner coming to sit beside him.

"Hospital bill. And my rent's going up."

"What? Why?"

"Didn't say. I'll bet anything that my neighbors complained about me and this is a way to get me to move instead of being outright evicted."

"How much did it go up by?"

"One-fifty."

"Christ. Hey, if you need some help paying-"

"No thanks. I don't want your money."

"How about your mom? I'm sure she'd help."

"She's not even talking to me, Doug. I doubt she'd let me borrow money from her. Besides, this is my problem. I'll figure something out. I need to get one of these jobs. Can you take me to turn in all those applications tomorrow?"

"Sure thing, buddy."

"Great." There was a pause for a minute before Tom spoke again. "Hey, Doug?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not….I'm not keeping you from going out, am I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Shouldn't you be going on dates with what's her name, hanging at bars, clubs – you know, having a _life_? I don't want you to feel you have to be with me constantly, every day. You barely go home, for god's sakes. I'm not saying I don't like having you with me, because I do; but I don't want to be the reason why you….don't have fun anymore," he finished quietly.

Penhalll nodded, thinking his friend's words over in his head. It was true – Tom keeping him from doing anything truly enjoyable. For the past week or so, he had felt more like a parent than anything. He knew it was not fair to put Tom in the same category of needs as children, but that was Doug's feeling. All he ever did anymore was go to work, come home to Tom's apartment, and spend all of his free time taking care and being with the younger man. It was taxing, and he had not realized how much of himself he had been giving up for Tom.

"Well," he started, exhaling a deep breath. "If you think you'd be alright being on your own more, I'll go back to sleeping at my apartment. Yeah, I'd like to go on dates with Dianna and have some alone time, but not until I know you'll be okay without me here."

Hanson smiled and put his hand on Doug's back in a friendly gesture. "I'll be okay. I feel so much better now than when you brought me home from the hospital. I really think I can handle being alone. Besides, I know I can always call you if something happens."

Penhall laughed a little. "You're absolutely right. You know I'm always here for you, Tommy."

"I know."

"Do you wanna try today? I can go ahead and go and then just pick you up tomorrow to drop off applications."

"That sounds perfect."

"Alrighty. I'll take home whatever crap I've brought over later. I'm pretty sure my stuff's spread out all over the place."

"No problem. You want me to walk you out?"

"Nah, I'm a big boy." Tom grinned amusedly at the statement. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Wanna say….between one and two?"

"Sounds good."

"Alright. Be careful, okay?"

"Yes mother," Tom said smartly.

"Ha, funny. Bye Tommy."

"Bye Dougie."

After hearing the door close, Hanson picked up one of the unopened envelopes on the table. It looked normal enough, not offensive in any way. Once opened, however, he was proven otherwise. The words made his heart almost stop; he went utterly pale and was breathless. The paper read:

_You better watch your back, Tommy. Two of us haven't been caught yet, and we're starting to have a hankering for the good ol' times we had in the past. You know the ones we're talking about. Maybe we'll even pay you since you're just such a good lay. Think of it as a new job opportunity considering you got fired. This could be perfect for you. We could be your first paying customers, Tommy. Give it some thought. Even if you say "no," we'll still get you. We know where you are. Perhaps we'll even finish the job we failed to do: murdering you._

His hands trembling, Tom placed the note on the table and stared at it for a long while. It was definitely possible for them to come into his apartment; they had done it before. And it would be extremely easy for them to overpower him.

He made to get the phone, but stopped himself, sighed, and rested back on the couch. Calling Doug would solve nothing. Not only would it most likely irritate his partner and make him come back, it would prove he was not strong enough to handle being alone. He forgot what it was like to be this afraid, wondering if and when an uninvited guest would break into his apartment.

"Stop thinking about it," he whispered to himself. "Stop. You'll be fine. It'll be fine. You don't need Doug to be a bodyguard. You'll be fine tonight."

It was not until six the next morning when he finally fell asleep, curled up and quivering on the couch.


	18. Chapter 21

**A/N**: I am sorry for taking this long. For real. It's been too long! But hopefully, I've past through the rut and will be able to get on a more regular schedule with it. I'd say this thing is about 2/3 done. Thanks to all of you reviewing! And to those simply reading. I eat up all those hits and reviews, so please feed me. :-D

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The moment he heard the knocks on the front door, Tom bolted upright and stared in its direction. Was it them? Had they decided to follow through with their threats?

It had completely slipped his mind that Doug was coming to pick him up to drop off applications.

Struggling to his feet, he limped away from the couch and approached the door tentatively. When more rapping on the entrance sounded, he froze and stopped breathing. His heart was racing and his eyes were wide. Even though he did have a peephole to confirm who it was, his fear rooted him to the spot. Not until Doug called his name did he relax somewhat and stepped forward to grasp the doorknob to let him in. He exhaled a shaky sigh of thankfulness and smiled sheepishly.

"Hey," he greeted lamely.

Doug studied him, concern creeping into his expression. "Hey, uh, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Come in."

He retreated back into the apartment, Doug following him, and snatched the note he had left lying on the table so that Doug would not see it. He stuffed it behind the waistband of his boxers at his side, casually saying, "I'll be ready in just a few minutes," and went into the bedroom. Once the door was closed, he pulled the paper out and stashed it under his pillow.

Five minutes later, he was casually dressed in navy basketball shorts that reached an inch or so below his knees, a white t-shirt, and a blue-plaid flannel shirt over it.

"Alright, let's go."

* * *

Not long after he had stepped inside the video rental store, he could feel the people present in the store watching him, stealing glances in his direction and whispering with their friends about him. The fact that he would be recognized by what seemed like everyone out in public still had not settled itself in his mind. It was nerve-racking, and he worked hard on keeping his anxiety at bay. Trying to exude all the confidence he had, which by no means was much, he went to the counter and placed the piece of paper he had been clutching tightly onto the counter top.

"I'd like to turn this in," he said a bit quietly.

The teenage boy had a less than friendly expression on his face as he took the application and tossed it onto a stack of papers. "The position's been filled," he stated curtly.

"But there's still the 'now hiring' sign in the window," Tom replied, pointing over his shoulder at the notice.

"We just haven't gotten around to taking it down yet."

"Oh."

As if his pride had not been damaged enough, a group of three male teenagers approached the counter and gathered around him.

"Well, if it isn't Tommy Hanson," one of them said smartly. "Or should I say Tommy Fagson." The insult garnered amused snickers from his friends.

"Mason Hinkley," Tom responded dryly. He remembered Mason and his gang from one of the undercover jobs he had gone on with Doug posing as the McQuaids. Though none of them had been suspects or involved in the crime in question, it was no secret that they never got along well with Doug and Tommy McQuaid.

"Quite the change from trash-talkin' McQuaid. Who knew you were actually a filthy faggot who likes taking it hard up the ass?"

"Shut up," Tom growled. "You don't know anything."

"Oh yeah? I know you had sex with five different guys. _Every_body knows. You should just go stand on a street corner."

With the sound of crude laughter ringing in his ears, Tom hurried out of the store to his parked Mustang not far away. He got into the passenger's side, put on his seat-belt, and muttered, "Let's go," to Doug.

By the expression and tone of his voice, Doug could tell his friend did not want to discuss whatever had happened in there. Starting the car, Doug said, "Alright then. Off to the next stop."

* * *

The day was a failure. Each employer had some reason not to hire him. The position was filled; he was not what they were looking for; he was not in good enough health. Some even outright told him they did not want _him_.

Doug felt for Tom. He really did. And there was not a thing he could do for him.

They arrived at Hanson's apartment and sat down on the couch beside one another. Neither spoke or moved much. Hanson was itching to get drunk and pass out, to forget the awful, disappointing day, but he knew he would not come close to getting any of his alcohol while Doug was around.

"So, uh," he began hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You got plans for tonight?"

Doug sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Got a date. You gonna be okay?"

"Yes, Doug," Tom answered with a small smile. "I'm a grown boy, you know."

"And a smart ass too."

"You love me anyway."

Doug smiled, wrapped his arm around the younger man, and said, "Yeah, I do."

A short time later, Tom was alone, and he wasted no time in taking the opportunity to rummage around his liquor stash for the perfect bottle of medicine.

* * *

By twelve-thirty AM Doug was back at his apartment, alone for once, and tired. He planned on going straight to bed after trudging into the kitchen to have a glass of water, but it was evident that his night was not quite over yet when the phone rang rather loudly. Muttering a few curse words under his breath, he traveled over to the desk at the far side of the apartment and snatched up the receiver.

"Hello?" he answered a tad tartly.

"Hey Dougie!" was the enthusiastic reply.

"Wh-Tom? Is that you?"

"Who else would I be?!"

"Tom….it's almost one in the morning. What are you still doing up? Is everything okay?"

There was a heavy, dramatic sigh before Tom announced gloomily, "I'm lonely."

"Lonely?"

"Why don't you come over?"

"Tom-"

"I'll make it worth your while."

Doug swallowed hard at the sudden, seductive tone in his former partner's voice. "Wh….What's that supposed to mean?"

"Anything you want. Come over and find out."

"I don't know-"

"Pleeeease Dougie?"

Penhall closed his eyes, exhaled a deep breath, and responded with, "Alright. I'll be right over."

"You _won't_ be disappointed."

The line went dead and already his mind was concocting pornographic images of what Hanson was alluding to.

* * *

When the door opened, Penhall could not believe that he was looking at Tom Hanson. The younger man's hair was completely disheveled; his eyes appeared darker than usual and certainly livelier than they had been in a while; his mouth was quirked upward into a lopsided grin; and he was holding on tight to the doorknob to keep from falling to the floor. He had not needed his crutches much in the past couple of days to get around, and Doug could see that his clumsiness was not due to not having the aides with him or from his knee and/or feet hurting. Tom Hanson was wasted beyond all reason.

"Come on in," he said casually and began stumbling back to the couch.

Penhall entered his friend's apartment, shut the door and joined Hanson on the sofa. There was a handful of beer cans and liquor bottles scattered on the floor and table; Hanson had his fingers clasped around a can and chugged down whatever was left, tossing the can over his shoulder and grinning at Doug when he had finished swallowing.

"Want some?" he asked, his words sounding a bit lazy.

"No, I'm good." For a brief moment, Doug merely regarded his tremendously intoxicated friend and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do. "Tom….Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"_This_. Getting hammered….Alone. Don't do this. It doesn't help. It doesn't make your problems go away. Believe me, I know."

"Psh, you worry too much, Dougie. I'm fine. Really. I just wanted to have some fun."

"And me?"

Tom's smile grew wider as he crawled to sit between Doug's legs. The older male's eyes grew slightly larger and his breathing accelerated as Tom's hands went under his shirt and started sliding upward to his chest. "Thought we could make our own fun," Hanson half-whispered before rocking his hips forward. The movement caused a sharp gasp from Penhall.

This was what Doug had been waiting for – a consensual, intimate romp with Tom. His self-restraint was dwindling fast as the younger man kissed up and down the length of his neck, yet he soon realized it was not _fully_ consensual. Hanson was severely inebriated, saying and doing things he would _never_ do if he were sober. It would be extremely wrong, Doug knew, to take advantage of the current state his friend was in. But the temptation….

"Tom, I don't think we should do this," he reluctantly stated.

Hanson pulled back to stare at the older man directly. "You're not likin' it? I could put my mouth to use elsewhere-"

"No, no no no, that's not what I mean. You're drunk, Tom. You're not thinkin' clearly."

"Don't tell me what I'm thinking, Doug," Hanson said with grave seriousness. "That's somethin' only _I_ know. No one else. No one can get in my head." He looked down, an abrupt expression of misery written on his face. "They can't get in. I won't let them," he started to mumble, shaking his head. "Not again. I won't let them."

"Tom," Penhall voiced gently, "it's okay. They can't get in and mess with you anymore."

"What if they do?"

"They won't. I'll be there to protect you. I promise." He cupped Hanson's face in his hands, making the other man gaze into his eyes. "I promise."

It was a minute before either one made any sort of move. It was Tom who acted first, removing his shirt and tossing it to the other couch. There was an innocence present in his brown eyes that made Doug's heart pound faster – and his cock grow harder. Taking his time, Tom unfastened the other male's belt, unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans, and eased himself onto the floor to kneel on one leg. With a small tug on the jeans to prompt Doug to come forward a little on the couch, Penhall resituated himself towards the edge of the cushion and leaned back. He could not believe what was happening and what was _about_ to happen. It was like one of his dreams as he intently watched Tom pull down the hem of his boxers, exposing his erection. Timidly, Hanson wrapped his fingers around the large member and began rubbing up and down on the sensitive flesh.

"Tom," Doug whispered. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to prove anything to me."

Those doe-like eyes peered up at him from behind heavy eyelids, telling him otherwise. "I won't remember anything in the morning," he confessed sadly. "Just let me do this."

Without waiting for an answer or response from Penhall, Tom bowed his head and took the throbbing organ into his mouth, his hands resting at the base of the shaft and softly stroking the testicles. Doug threw his head back and let out a deep moan, his breathing becoming quicker and hands tightly gripping the edge of the cushion.

"Tom," he huffed, incapable of any other speech other than his partner's name. "Tom."

Enthralled, he watched as Hanson's head bobbed up and down between his legs, sighing in ecstasy whenever Tom's talented tongue licked all along him and teased the slit of the head. He had a good idea of where Tom had learned to give such a stimulating blow job, but at the moment, he could not find it in himself to feel sorry for him. This was turning out to be the best oral sex he had ever received, making him incapable of dwelling on anything other than the astounding pleasure he was submerged in. Reaching out a hand, he ran his fingers through the young man's hair once before taking a hold of it.

Tom listened to the low groans coming from Doug and felt the man's thighs tense up every once in awhile as his climax neared. He began moving his mouth up and down faster as a result, occasionally taking the whole length of Doug's penis into his oral cavity, which seemed to be greatly appreciated judging by Penhall's shallow rasps mixed in with his heavy panting. Finally, after withdrawing a little, he felt the hard cock slightly twitch for a few seconds before streams of semen spurted into his mouth. He swallowed the milky substance as it came and licked the head clean when no more leaked out. Pulling away and sitting back, he wiped his lips with his hand and stared up at Penhall, who was working on recovering from the powerful orgasm. Slowly, he got to his feet and sat between the other man's legs again. He started placing delicate kisses along Doug's neck and all over his face. He stiffened from feeling strong hands rub his bare chest and side, though hurriedly relaxed under the affectionate touches. Soon, they were silently gazing at one another and before either knew it, they were vigorously kissing with such heat and passion that it made Hanson tremble.

If he was honest with himself, he wanted it to go further.

It was not long before he knew Doug desired the same.

Without a word, they broke apart just long enough for Doug to remove his shirt. The instant it was over his head, Tom's lips were on his own again, kissing him fiercely. Reaching down between them, Hanson gripped the other male's cock and began massaging it, working it up into a full erection within ten minutes. Once it was, he pulled away, briefly looked at Doug, and got up to retreat to the bedroom. While he was gone, Doug stood and quickly took off the rest of his clothes. Tom returned seconds later with a little plastic bottle and condom packet. Tentatively, he approached his best friend, handed him the items, and discarded his boxers. Together, they stood naked in front of one another, and after Doug was finished studying his partner from head to toe, he whispered into the younger man's ear, "Lie down on your stomach."

Hanson nodded and diligently obeyed. He settled himself on the couch, tucking a pillow under his head as Doug moved atop him. Soft lips were suckling on his shoulders and the back of his neck, causing him to sigh contently and close his eyes.

"You sure you want this?" Doug asked tenderly.

There was a short pause before Hanson answered, "Yeah."

With the drunken consent, Doug put on the condom and poured a gracious amount of lubricant into his palm. Leisurely, he coated his hard member, placed a hand on his friend's round backside, and guided his cock into Tom. The smaller male gave a quivering whimper and started to breathe heavier as he felt Doug penetrate him, slowly and cautiously inching farther and farther inside of him. Both already had a light sheen of perspiration glistening on their bodies; both were quietly voicing their rapture. After fully entering him, Penhall pulled back, lifted Tom's hips a little, and thrust into him more powerfully. Tom cried out, his fingers raking down the pillow under him. At one point, he was biting it as Doug made love to him.

Tom turned his head to the side, his eyes shut tightly and mouth hanging open as he moaned incessantly. Doug's hands were everywhere on him, caressing and groping. The older man varied his propulsions, though always maintained a forceful approach. Most of the time he shoved himself in all the way, encasing his whole length within the warm, tight confines of his friend's body. It was heaven. It was everything he had been fantasizing about. He draped himself over the smaller frame to nibble on Hanson's hot skin, eliciting faint sounds of sheer bliss to escape from between those incredible lips. A hand eased itself beneath Hanson to rub against his chest, a couple of fingers fondling a hard nipple that made the younger man tremble and moan freely.

"Tommy," Doug breathed into his friend's ear.

"D-Doug," was the weakly whispered reply.

Several minutes later, Doug slowed and stopped his movements as he climaxed inside of Tom. They were both left panting and sweating, limp and spent. Reluctantly, Doug pulled out of the other male's body and slid off the condom, placing it on a tissue to wrap it up in. He tossed it on the floor and gazed at his former partner. Tom's face was contorted into an expression of satisfaction, relief, and a hint of indignity that Doug did not see. He laid down on Hanson, hugged him close, and kissed his shoulder.

"Hey," he murmured lovingly. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I feel a lil' nauseous, though."

"Alcohol finally catchin' up with you?"

"Maybe."

"I'll take you to bed."

Once Doug was on his feet, he turned Hanson over onto his back and picked him up. He carried the exhausted man to the bed, laid him down gently, and covered him from the waist down with the bed sheets. Hanson rolled onto his left side and closed his eyes. It was not long before he was asleep – either from being terribly tired or from simply passing out was unclear. Despite what he wanted, Doug decided it would probably not be the best idea to stay.

He got dressed and turned off all the lights. An hour or so after arriving at Tom's apartment, he was on his way back to his own to finally turn in for the night.

* * *

Hanson showed the first signs of life at eleven o'clock that morning. He groaned in pain from the unbelievable throbbing in his head. The blinds did not prevent the sun's light enough for him, making him move onto his back and turn his face away from the window. His body was sore and, combined with the indescribable discomfort encasing his entire head, he continuously moaned and mumbled his distress to an empty room.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, rubbing his forehead. "What the hell happened?"

True to his word, he did not remember the graphic events from the early hours of that morning.

Upon turning onto his right side, he noticed a glass of water and two white pills sitting on the nightstand. Whatever they were, he did not care; he knew they were some sort of medication and that was good enough for him. Unhurriedly, he sat up and swallowed the capsules one at a time. He polished off the cup of water before lying down on his stomach, burying his face in a pillow.

"What did you do?" he asked aloud, trying to remember _any_thing that could explain his current state. Nothing came to mind.

He confined himself to his bed for the rest of the day, giving up on recalling what had possibly happened to him.


End file.
